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1 



Introduction 



r^AlVS PLINIUS C^cilius Secundus 
commonly known as the younger Pliny, 
one of the most elegant writers of his day, 
was born at Novum-Comum (Como) A. D. 62. 
Having lost his father, Lucius Caecilius, 
when quite a child, he was adopted by his 
uncle, Caius Plinius Secundus, the elder 
Pliny, author of the " Natural History," a 
man of sterling principle, extensive infor- 
mation, and almost incredible industry as 
a writer, judging from his nephew's account 
of him in a letter to his friend Baebius 
Macer. The younger Pliny seems to have 
been most carefully brought up ; Verginius 
Rufus was his guardian, and he attended 
the oratorical classes of Quintilian and 
Nicetes Sacerdos. He began life as a 
pleader at the Roman bar, in his eighteenth 
year: it was in the same year that he lost 



vii 



#4 Introduction 



dealing with times and scenes so remote 
was ever more widely popular, and in aim- 
ing at popularity the author laboured hard 
to secure historical accuracy. Bulwer states 
in his note to the Destruction of Pompeii : 

" Various theories as to the exact mode 
by which Pompeii was destroyed have been 
invented by the ingenious ; I have adopted 
that which is the most generally received, 
and which, upon inspecting the strata, ap- 
pears the only one admissible by common 
sense ; namely, a destruction by showers of 
ashes, and boiling water, mingled with fre- 
quent irruptions of large stones, and aided 
by the partial convulsions of the earth. Her- 
culaneum, on the contrary, appears to have 
received not only the showers of ashes, 
but also inundations from molten lava ; and 
the streams referred to in the text must be 
considered as destined for that city rather 
than for Pompeii. The volcanic lightnings 
introduced in my description were evidently 
among the engines of ruin at Pompeii. 

x 



Introduction Hr 



Papyrus, and other of the more inflam- 
mable materials, are found in a burned 
state. Some substances in metal are par- 
tially melted ; and a bronze statue is com- 
pletely shivered, as by lightning. Upon 
the whole (excepting only the inevitable 
poetic license of shortening the time which 
the destruction occupied), I believe my 
description of that awful event is very 
little assisted by invention, and will be 
found none the less accurate for its appear- 
ance in a Romance." 

In offering this selection, the desire is 
not only to give the reader an opportunity 
to compare the graphic descriptions of 
Pliny, an eye-witness, with the brilliant and 
fascinating romance of the versatile and 
inventive Bulwer, but also to cite examples 
of composition, which, for excellence in the 
art of sustaining thrilling interest, breadth 
and variety of portraiture, have withstood 
all criticism, and are to-day unequalled in 
the annals of Literature. 



xi 



The Destruction of Pompeii 

as given by 

Caius Plinius Caecilius Secundus 
in Two Letters to Cornelius Tacitus 



The Destruction of Pompeii 



I. 

PLINY'S LETTER TO CORNELIUS 
TACITUS 

^TOUR request that I would send 
you an account of my uncle's 
death, in order to transmit a more exact 
relation of it to posterity, deserves my 
acknowledgments ; for, if this accident 
shall be celebrated by your pen, the 
glory of it, I well am assured, will be 
rendered for ever illustrious. And not- 
withstanding he perished by a misfor- 
tune which, as it involved at the same 
3 



The Destruction 



time a most beautiful country in ruins, 
and destroyed so many populous cities, 
seems to promise him an everlasting 
remembrance ; notwithstanding he has 
himself composed many and lasting 
works ; yet I am persuaded the men- 
tioning of him in your immortal writ- 
ings will greatly contribute to render 
his name immortal. Happy I esteem 
those to be to whom by provision of 
the gods has been granted the ability 
either to do such actions as are worthy 
of being related or to relate them in 
a manner worthy of being read ; but 
peculiarly happy are they who are 
blessed with both these uncommon 
talents : in the number of which my 
uncle, as his own writings and your 
history will evidently prove, may justly 
be ranked. It is with extreme will- 
4 



of Pompeii Hr 



ingness, therefore, that I execute your 
commands ; and should indeed have 
claimed the task if you had not en- 
joined it. He was at that time with 
the fleet under his command at Mise- 
num. 1 On the 24th of August, about 
one in the afternoon, my mother de- 
sired him to observe a cloud which 
appeared of a very unusual size and 
shape. He had just taken a turn in 
the sun, 2 and, after bathing himself 

1 In the Bay of Naples. 

2 The Romans used to lie or walk naked in 
the sun, after anointing their bodies with oil, 
which was esteemed as greatly contributing to 
health, and therefore daily practised by them. 
This custom, however, of anointing themselves 
is inveighed against by the satirists as in the 
number of their luxurious indulgences ; but 
since we find the elder Pliny here, and the 
amiable Spurinna in a former letter, practising 
this method, we cannot suppose the thing itself 

5 



?H The Destruction 



in cold water, and making a light 
luncheon, gone back to his books : he 
immediately arose and went out upon 
a rising ground from whence he might 
get a better sight of this very uncom- 
mon appearance. A cloud, from which 
mountain was uncertain, at this dis- 
tance (but it was found afterward to 
come from Mount Vesuvius), 2 was 

was esteemed unmanly, but only when it was 
attended with some particular circumstances of 
an over-refined delicacy. 

2 About six miles distant from Naples. — 
This dreadful eruption happened A. D. 79, in 
the first year of the Emperor Titus. Martial 
has a pretty epigram upon this subject, in which 
he gives us a view of Vesuvius, as it appeared 
before this terrible conflagration broke out : 

" Hie est pampineis viridis modo Vesuvius umbris, 
Presserat hie madidos nobilis uva lacus. 
Hsec juga, quam Nisas colles, plus Bacchus amavit ; 
Hoc nuper Satyri monte dedere choros. 

6 



of Pompeii Hr 



ascending, the appearance of which I 
cannot give you a more exact de- 
scription of than by likening it to 

Hsec Veneris sedes, Lacedaemone gratior illi ; 

Hie locus Herculeo nomine clarus erat : 
Cuncta jacent flammis, et tristi mersa fa villa ; 

Nec vellent superi hoc licuisse sibi." 

— Lib. iv. ep. xliv. 

TRANSLATION 

" Here verdant vines o'erspread Vesuvio's sides ; 
The gen'rous grape here pour'd her purple tides. 
This Bacchus lov'd beyond his native scene ; 
Here dancing satyrs joy'd to trip the green. 
Far more than Sparta this in Venus' grace ; 
And great Alcides once renown'd the place : 
Now flaming, embers spread dire waste around, 
And gods regret that gods can thus confound." 

It seems probable that this was the first erup- 
tion of Mount Vesuvius, at least of any conse- 
quence ; as it is certain we have no particular 
accounts of any preceding one. Dio, indeed, 
and other ancient authors speak of it as burn- 
ing before ; but still they describe it as covered 
with trees and vines, so that the eruptions must 
have been inconsiderable. 

7 



The Destruction 



that of a pine-tree, for it shot up to 
a great height in the form of a very 
tall trunk, which spread itself out at 
the top into a sort of branches ; occa- 
sioned, I imagine, either by a sudden 
gust of air that impelled it, the force 
of which decreased as it advanced up- 
wards, or the cloud itself being pressed 
back again by its own weight, expanded 
in the manner I have mentioned ; it 
appeared sometimes bright and some- 
times dark and spotted, according as 
it was either more or less impregnated 
with earth and cinders. This phe- 
nomenon seemed to a man of such 
learning and research as my uncle 
extraordinary and worth further look- 
ing into. He ordered a light vessel 
to be got ready, and gave me leave, if 
I liked, to accompany him. I said I 
8 



of Pompeii Hr 



had rather go on with my work ; and 
it so happened he had himself given 
me something to write out. As he 
was coming out of the house, 1 he re- 
ceived a note from Rectina, the wife 
of Bassus, who was in the utmost 
alarm at the imminent danger which 
threatened her ; for her villa lying at 
the foot of Mount Vesuvius, there was 
no way of escape but by sea; she 
earnestly entreated him therefore to 
come to her assistance. He accord- 
ingly changed his first intention, and 
what he had begun from a philosophi- 

1 The manuscript and printed copies vary 
extremely from each other as to the reading of 
this passage. The conjecture of Gesner seems 
the most satisfactory, as it comes nearest the 
most approved manuscripts, and best falls in 
with the context ; it is, therefore, adopted in the 
translation. 



9 



The Destruction 



cal, he now carries out in a noble and 
generous spirit. He ordered the gal- 
leys to put to sea, and went himself 
on board with an intention of assisting 
not only Rectina, but the several other 
towns which lay thickly strewn along 
that beautiful coast. Hastening then 
to the place from whence others fled 
with the utmost terror, he steered his 
course direct to the point of danger, 
and with so much calmness and pres- 
ence of mind as to be able to make 
and dictate his observations upon the 
motion and all the phenomena of that 
dreadful scene. He was now so close 
to the mountain that the cinders, which 
grew thicker and hotter the nearer he 
approached, fell into the ships, together 
with pumice-stones, and black pieces 
of burning rock : they were in danger 

IO 



of Pompeii H£ 



too, not only of being aground by the 
sudden retreat of the sea, but also from 
the vast fragments which rolled down 
from the mountain, and obstructed all 
the shore. Here he stopped to con- 
sider whether he should turn back 
again ; to which the pilot advising 
him, " Fortune," said he, " favours the 
brave \ steer to where Pomponianus 
is." Pomponianus was then at Stabiae, 1 
separated by a bay, which the sea, after 
several insensible windings, forms with 
the shore. He had already sent his 
baggage on board ; for though he was 
not at that time in actual danger, yet 
being within sight of it, and indeed 
extremely near, if it should in the least 
increase, he was determined to put to 

1 Now called Castelamare, in the Bay of 
Naples. 

1 1 



?H The Destruction 



sea as soon as the wind, which was 
blowing dead inshore, should go down. 
It was favourable, however, for carry- 
ing my uncle to Pomponianus, whom 
he found in the greatest consternation : 
he embraced him tenderly, encouraging 
and urging him to keep up his spirits, 
and, the more effectually to soothe his 
fears by seeming unconcerned himself, 
ordered a bath to be got ready, and 
then, after having bathed, sat down 
to supper with great cheerfulness, or 
at least (what is just as heroic) with 
every appearance of it. Meanwhile 
broad flames shone out in several 
places from Mount Vesuvius, which 
the darkness of the night contributed 
to render still brighter and clearer. 
But my uncle, in order to soothe the 
apprehensions of his friend, assured 

12 



of Pompeii Hr 



him it was only the burning of the 
villages, which the country people had 
abandoned to the flames : after this 
he retired to rest, and it is most cer- 
tain he was so little disquieted as to 
fall into a sound sleep ; for his breath- 
ing, which, on account of his corpu- 
lence, was rather heavy and sonorous, 
was heard by the attendants outside. 
The court which led to his apartment 
being now almost filled with stones 
and ashes, if he had continued there 
any time longer it would have been 
impossible for him to have made his 
way out. So he was awoke and got 
up, and went to Pomponianus and the 
rest of his company, who were feeling 
too anxious to think of going to bed. 
They consulted together whether it 
would be most prudent to trust to the 
*3 



#4 The Destruction 



houses, which now rocked from side 
to side with frequent and violent con- 
cussions as though shaken from their 
very foundations ; or fly to the open 
fields, where the calcined stones and 
cinders, though light indeed, yet fell 
in large showers, and threatened de- 
struction. In this choice of dangers 
they resolved for the fields : a resolu- 
tion which, while the rest of the com- 
pany were hurried into by their fears, 
my uncle embraced upon cool and 
deliberate consideration. They went 
out then, having pillows tied upon 
their heads with napkins ; and this 
was their whole defence against the 
storm of stones that fell around them. 
It was now day everywhere else, but 
there a deeper darkness prevailed than 
in the thickest night ; which however 
14 



of Pompeii Hr 



was in some degree alleviated by 
torches and other lights of various 
kinds. They thought proper to go 
farther down upon the shore to see 
if they might safely put out to sea, 
but found the waves still running ex- 
tremely high, and boisterous. There 
my uncle, laying himself down upon 
a sail-cloth, which was spread for 
him, called twice for some cold 
water, which he drank, when imme- 
diately the flames, preceded by a 
strong whiff of sulphur, dispersed the 
rest of the party and obliged him to 
rise. He raised himself up with the 
assistance of two of his servants, and 
instantly fell down dead ; suffocated, 
as I conjecture, by some gross and 
noxious vapour, having always had a 
weak throat, which was often in- 
l 5 



The Destruction 

flamed. As soon as it was light 
again, which was not till the third 
day after this melancholy accident, 
his body was found entire, and with- 
out any marks of violence upon it, in 
the dress in which he fell, and looking 
more like a man asleep than dead. 
During all this time my mother and 
I, who were at Misenum — but this 
has no connection with your history, 
and you did not desire any particulars 
besides those of my uncle's death ; so 
I will end here, only adding that I 
have faithfully related to you what I 
was either an eye-witness of myself 
or received immediately after the ac- 
cident happened, and before there was 
time to vary the truth. You will pick 
out of this narrative whatever is most 
important : for a letter is one thing, a 
16 



of Pompeii Hr 



history another ; it is one thing writing 
to friend, another thing writing to the 
public. Farewell. 

II. 

PLINY'S LETTER TO CORNELIUS 
TACITUS 

The letter which, in compliance 
with your request, I wrote to you 
concerning the death of my uncle has 
raised, it seems, your curiosity to know 
what terrors and dangers attended me 
while I continued at Misenum ; for 
there, I think, my account broke off : 

" Though my shock'd soul recoils, my tongue 
shall tell." 1 

My uncle having left us, I spent such 
1 Virg. Pitt's translation. 
17 



#1 The Destruction 



time as was left on my studies (it was 
on their account indeed that I had 
stopped behind), till it was time for 
my bath. After which I went to sup- 
per, and then fell into a short and 
uneasy sleep. There had been noticed 
for many days before a trembling of 
the earth, which did not alarm us 
much, as this is quite an ordinary 
occurrence in Campania ; but it was 
so particularly violent that night that 
it not only shook but actually over- 
turned, as it would seem, everything 
about us. My mother rushed into my 
chamber, where she found me rising, 
in order to awaken her. We sat down 
in the open court of the house, which 
occupied a small space between the 
buildings and the sea. As I was at 
that time but eighteen years of age, I 
18 



of Pompeii 



know not whether I should call my 
behaviour, in this dangerous juncture, 
courage or folly ; but I took up Livy, 
and amused myself with turning over 
that author, and even making extracts 
from him, as if I had been perfectly 
at my leisure. Just then, a friend of 
my uncle's, who had lately come to 
him from Spain, joined us, and observ- 
ing me sitting by my mother with a 
book in my hand, reproved her for her 
calmness, and me at the same time 
for my careless security ; nevertheless 
I went on with my author. Though 
it was now morning, the light was still 
exceedingly faint and doubtful ; the 
buildings all around us tottered, and 
though we stood upon open ground, 
yet, as the place was narrow and con- 
fined, there was no remaining without 
*9 



The Destruction 



imminent danger : we therefore re- 
solved to quit the town. A panic- 
stricken crowd followed us, and (as 
to a mind distracted with terror every 
suggestion seems more prudent than 
its own) pressed on us in dense array 
to drive us forward as we came out. 
Being at a convenient distance from 
the houses, we stood still, in the midst 
of a most dangerous and dreadful scene. 
The chariots, which we had ordered to 
be drawn out, were so agitated back- 
wards and forwards, though upon the 
most level ground, that we could not 
keep them steady, even by support- 
ing them with large stones. The sea 
seemed to roll back upon itself, and 
to be driven from its banks by the 
convulsive motion of the earth ; it is 
certain at least the shore was consid- 

20 



of Pompeii K4 



erably enlarged, and several sea ani- 
mals were left upon it. On the other 
side, a black and dreadful cloud, broken 
with rapid, zigzag flashes, revealed 
behind it variously shaped masses of 
flame : these last were like sheet-light- 
ning, but much larger. Upon this 
our Spanish friend, whom I mentioned 
above, addressing himself to my mother 
and me with great energy and urgency : 
" If your brother," he said, " if your 
uncle be safe, he certainly wishes you 
may be so too ; but if he perished, 
it was his desire, no doubt, that you 
might both survive him ; why there- 
fore do you delay your escape a mo- 
ment ? " We could never think of 
our own safety, we said, while we 
were uncertain of his. Upon this our 
friend left us, and withdrew from the 

21 



#4 The Destruction 



danger with the utmost precipitation. 
Soon afterward, the cloud began to 
descend, and cover the sea. It had 
already surrounded and concealed the 
island of Capreae 1 and the promon- 
tory of Misenum. My mother now 
besought, urged, even commanded me 
to make my escape at any rate, which, 
as I was young, I might easily do ; as 
for herself, she said, her age and cor- 
pulency rendered all attempts of that 
sort impossible ; however, she would 
willingly meet death if she could have 
the satisfaction of seeing that she was 
not the occasion of mine. But I abso- 
lutely refused to leave her, and, taking 
her by the hand, compelled her to go 
with me. She complied with great 
reluctance, and not without many re- 
1 An island near Naples, now called Capri. 

22 



of Pompeii 



proaches to herself for retarding my 
flight. The ashes now began to fall 
upon us, though in no great quantity. 
I looked back ; a dense dark mist 
seemed to be following us, spreading 
itself over the country like a cloud. 
" Let us turn out of the high-road," I 
said, " while we can still see, for fear 
that, should we fall in the road, we 
should be pressed to death in the dark, 
by the crowds that are following us." 
We had scarcely sat down when night 
came upon us, not such as we have 
when the sky is cloudy, or when there 
is no moon, but that of a room when 
it is shut up, and all the lights put out. 
You might hear the shrieks of women, 
the screams of children, and the shouts 
of men ; some calling for their chil- 
dren, others for their parents, others 
2 3 



£H The Destruction 



for their husbands, and seeking to rec- 
ognise each other by the voices that 
replied ; one lamenting his own fate, 
another that of his family ; some wish- 
ing to die, from the very fear of dying ; 
some lifting their hands to the gods ; 
but the greater part convinced that 
there were now no gods at all, and 
that the final endless night of which 
we have heard had come upon the 
world. 1 Among these there were some 
who augmented the real terrors by 
others imaginary or wilfully invented. 
I remember some who declared that 
one part of Misenum had fallen, that 

1 The Stoic and Epicurean philosophers held 
that the world was to be destroyed by fire, and 
all things fall again into original chaos ; not 
excepting even the national gods themselves 
from the destruction of this general confla- 
gration. 

24 



of Pompeii Hr 



another was on fire ; it was false, but 
they found people to believe them. It 
now grew rather lighter, which we im- 
agined to be rather the forerunner of 
an approaching burst of flames (as in 
truth it was) than the return of day ; 
however, the fire fell at a distance from 
us ; then again we were immersed in 
thick darkness, and a heavy shower of 
ashes rained upon us, which we were 
obliged every now and then to stand 
up to shake off*, otherwise we should 
have been crushed and buried in the 
heap. I might boast that, during all 
this scene of horror, not a sigh, or 
expression of fear, escaped me, had 
not my support been grounded in that 
miserable, though mighty, consolation, 
that all mankind were involved in the 
same calamity, and that I was perish- 
2 5 



#4 The Destruction 



ing with the world itself. At last this 
dreadful darkness was dissipated by de- 
grees, like a cloud or smoke ; the real 
day returned, and even the sun shone 
out, though with a lurid light, like 
when an eclipse is coming on. Every 
object that presented itself to our 
eyes (which were extremely weakened) 
seemed changed, being covered deep 
with ashes as if with snow. We re- 
turned to Misenum, where we refreshed 
ourselves as well as we could, and 
passed an anxious night between hope 
and fear ; though, indeed, with a much 
larger share of the latter : for the 
earthquake still continued, while many 
frenzied persons ran up and down 
heightening their own and their friends' 
calamities by terrible predictions. How- 
ever, my mother and I, notwithstand- 
26 



of Pompeii K4 

ing the danger we had passed, and 
that which still threatened us, had no 
thoughts of leaving the place till we 
could receive some news of my uncle. 

And now, you will read this narra- 
tive without any view of inserting it 
in your history, of which it is not in 
the least worthy ; and indeed you must 
put it down to your own request if it 
should appear not worth even the 
trouble of a letter. Farewell. 



27 



The Destruction of Pompeii 
By Bulwer - Lytton 



The Destruction of Pompeii 



I. 



HE awful night preceding the 



fierce joy of the amphitheatre 
rolled drearily away, and grayly broke 
forth the dawn of the last day of 
Pompeii ! The air was uncommonly 
calm and sultry, — a thin and dull mist 
gathered over the valleys and hollows 
of the broad Campanian fields. But yet 
it was remarked in surprise by the 
early fishermen, that, despite the ex- 
ceeding stillness of the atmosphere, 
the waves of the sea were agitated, 
3i 




#4 The Destruction 



and seemed, as it were, to run disturb- 
edly back from the shore; while along 
the blue and stately Sarnus, whose an- 
cient breadth of channel the traveller 
now vainly seeks to discover, there 
crept a hoarse and sullen murmur, as 
it glided by the laughing plains and the 
gaudy villas of the wealthy citizens. 
Clear above the low mist rose the 
time-worn towers of the immemorial 
town, the red-tiled roofs of the bright 
streets, the solemn columns of many 
temples, and the statue-crowned por- 
tals of the Forum and the Arch of 
Triumph. Far in the distance, the 
outline of the circling hills soared 
above the vapours, and mingled with 
the changeful hues of the morning sky. 
The cloud that had so long rested 
over the crest of Vesuvius had sud- 
3 2 



of Pc mpeii Hr 

denly vanished, and its rugged and 
haughty brow looked without a frown 
over the beautiful scenes below. 

Despite the earliness of the hour, 
the gates of the city were already 
opened. Horseman upon horseman, 
vehicle after vehicle, poured rapidly 
in ; and the voices of numerous pedes- 
trian groups, clad in holiday attire, rose 
high in joyous and excited merriment ; 
the streets were crowded with citizens 
and strangers from the populous neigh- 
bourhood of Pompeii ; and noisily — 
fast — confusedly swept the many 
streams of life toward the fatal show. 

Despite the vast size of the amphi- 
theatre, seemingly so disproportioned 
to the extent of the city, and formed 
to include nearly the whole population 
of Pompeii itself, so great, on extraor- 
33 



tH The Destruction 



dinary occasions, was the concourse of 
strangers from all parts of Campania, 
that the space before it was usually 
crowded for several hours previous to 
the commencement of the sports, by 
such persons as were not entitled by 
their rank to appointed and especial 
seats. And the intense curiosity, which 
the trial and sentence of two criminals 
so remarkable had occasioned, increased 
the crowd on this day to an extent 
wholly unprecedented. 

While the common people, with the 
lively vehemence of their Campanian 
blood, were thus pushing, scrambling, 
hurrying on, — yet, amid all their 
eagerness, preserving, as is now the 
wont with Italians in such meetings, a 
wonderful order and unquarrelsome 
good humour, — a strange visitor to 
34 



of Pompeii f=f£ 



Arbaces, the Egyptian High Priest, was 
threading her way to his sequestered 
mansion. At the sight of her quaint 
and primeval garb — of her wild gait 
and gestures — the passengers she en- 
countered touched each other and 
smiled ; but as they caught a glimpse 
of her countenance, the mirth was 
hushed at once, for the face was as 
the face of the dead ; and, what with 
the ghastly features and obsolete robes 
of the stranger, it seemed as if one long 
entombed had risen once more among 
the living. In silence and awe each 
group gave way as she passed along, 
and she soon gained the broad porch 
of the palace of the priests of Isis. 

The black porter, like the rest of the 
world, astir at an unusual hour, started 
as he opened the door to her summons. 
35 



tH The Destruction 



The sleep of the Egyptian priest had 
been unusually profound during the 
night ; but as the dawn approached, 
it was disturbed by strange and unquiet 
dreams, which impressed him the more 
as they were coloured by the peculiar 
philosophy he embraced. 

He thought that he was transported 
to the bowels of the earth, and that he 
stood alone in a mighty cavern, sup- 
ported by enormous columns of rough 
and primeval rock, lost, as they as- 
cended, in the vastness of a shadow 
athwart whose eternal darkness no beam 
of day had ever glanced. And in the 
space between these columns were huge 
wheels, that whirled round and round 
unceasingly, and with a rushing and 
roaring noise. Only to the right and 
left extremities of the cavern, the space 
36 



of Pompeii Hr 

between the pillars was left bare, and 
the apertures stretched away into gal- 
leries — not wholly dark, but dimly 
lighted by wandering and erratic fires, 
that, meteor-like, now crept (as the 
snake creeps) along the rugged and 
dark soil ; and now leaped fiercely to 
and fro, darting across the vast gloom 
in wild gambols — suddenly disappear- 
ing, and as suddenly bursting into ten- 
fold brilliancy and power. And while 
he gazed wonderingly upon the gallery 
to the left, thin, mist-like, aerial shapes 
passed slowly up ; and when they had 
gained the hall they seemed to rise 
aloft, and to vanish, as the smoke 
vanishes, in the measureless ascent. 

He turned in fear toward the op- 
posite extremity — and behold ! there 
came swiftly, from the gloom above, 
37 



#4 The Destruction 



similar shadows, which swept hurriedly 
along the gallery to the right, as if 
borne involuntarily adown the tides of 
some invisible stream ; and the faces 
of these spectres were more distinct 
than those that emerged from the oppo- 
site passage ; and on some was joy, and 
on others sorrow — some were vivid 
with expectation and hope, some unut- 
terably dejected by awe and horror. 
And so they passed swift and constantly 
on, till the eyes of the gazer grew dizzy 
and blinded with the whirl of an ever- 
varying succession of things impelled 
by a power apparently not their own. 

Arbaces turned away ; and in the 
recess of the hall he saw the mighty 
form of a giantess seated upon a pile 
of skulls, and her hands were busy 
upon a pale and shadowy woof ; and 
38 



of Pompeii Hr 



he saw that the woof communicated 
with the numberless wheels, as if it 
guided the machinery of their move- 
ments. He thought his feet, by some 
secret agency, were impelled toward 
the female, and that he was borne 
onward till he stood before her, face 
to face. The countenance of the 
giantess was solemn and hushed, and 
beautifully serene. It was as the face 
of some colossal sculpture of his own 
ancestral sphinx. No passion, no 
human emotion, disturbed its brooding 
and unwrinkled brow; there was 
neither sadness, nor joy, nor memory, 
nor hope ; it was free from all with 
which the wild human heart can sym- 
pathise. The mystery of mysteries 
rested on its beauty, — it awed, but 
terrified not ; it was the Incarnation 
39 



The Destruction 



of the Sublime. But Arbaces felt the 
voice leave his lips, without an im- 
pulse of his own ; and the voice 
asked : 

" Who art thou, and what is thy 
task?" 

" I am That which thou hast ac- 
knowledged," answered, without desist- 
ing from its work, the mighty phantom. 
" My name is Nature ! These are 
the wheels of the world, and my hand 
guides them for the life of all things." 

" And what," said the voice of 
Arbaces, u are these galleries, that, 
strangely and fitfully illumined, stretch 
on either hand into the abyss of 
gloom ? " 

" That," answered the giant-mother, 
" which thou beholdest to the left, 
is the gallery of the Unborn. The 

40 



of Pompeii Hr 

shadows that flit onward and upward 
into the world are the souls that pass 
from the long eternity of being to their 
destined pilgrimage on earth. That 
which thou beholdest to thy right, 
wherein the shadows descending from 
above sweep on, equally unknown and 
dim, is the gallery of the Dead ! " 

" And, wherefore," said the voice of 
Arbaces, " yon wandering lights, that so 
wildly break the darkness ; but only 
break, not reveal?" 

" Dark fool of the human sciences ! 
dreamer of the stars, and would-be 
decipherer of the heart and origin of 
things ! those lights are but the glim- 
merings of such knowledge as is vouch- 
safed to Nature to work her way, to 
trace enough of the past and future to 
give providence to her designs. Judge, 
41 



#1 The Destruction 



then, puppet as thou art, what lights are 
reserved for thee ! " 

Arbaces felt himself tremble as he 
asked again, " Wherefore am I here ? " 

" It is the forecast of thy soul — 
the prescience of thy rushing doom 
— the shadow of thy fate lengthen- 
ing into eternity as it declines from 
earth." 

Ere he could answer, Arbaces felt 
a rushing wind sweep down the cav- 
ern, as the winds of a giant god. 
Borne aloft from the ground, and 
whirled on high as a leaf in the 
storms of autumn, he beheld himself 
in the midst of the Spectres of the 
Dead, and hurrying with them along 
the length of gloom. As in vain and 
impotent despair he struggled against 
the impelling power, he thought the 
42 



of Pompeii 

wind grew into something like a shape 
— a spectral outline of the wings and 
talons of an eagle, with limbs floating 
far and indistinctly along the air, and 
eyes that, alone clearly and vividly 
seen, glared stonily and remorselessly 
on his own. 

" What art thou ? " again said the 
voice of the Egyptian. 

" I am That which thou hast ac- 
knowledged ; " and the spectre laughed 
aloud — " and my name is Necessity." 

44 To what dost thou bear me ? " 

44 To the Unknown." 

44 To happiness or to woe ? " 

44 As thou hast sown, so shalt thou 
reap." 

44 Dread thing, not so ! If thou art 
the Ruler of life, thine are my misdeeds, 
not mine." 

43 



The Destruction 



u I am but the breath of God ! " 
answered the mighty wind. 

" Then is my wisdom vain ! " 
groaned the dreamer. 

" The husbandman accuses not fate, 
when, having sown thistles, he reaps 
not corn. Thou hast sown crime, 
accuse not fate if thou reapest not 
the harvest of virtue." 

The scene suddenly changed. Ar- 
baces was in a place of human bones ; 
and lo ! in the midst of them was a 
skull, and the skull, still retaining its 
fleshless hollows, assumed slowly, and 
in the mysterious confusion of a dream, 
the face of Death ; and forth from the 
grinning jaws there crept a small worm, 
and it crawled to the feet of Arbaces. 
He attempted to stamp on it and crush 
it ; but it became longer and larger 
44 



of Pompeii Hr 

with that attempt. It swelled and 
bloated until it grew into a vast ser- 
pent ; it coiled itself around the limbs 
of Arbaces ; it crunched his bones ; it 
raised its glaring eyes and poisonous 
jaws to his face. He writhed in vain ; 
he withered — he gasped — beneath the 
influence of the blighting breath — he 
felt himself blasted unto death. And 
then a voice came from the reptile, 
which still bore the face of Death, and 
rang in his reeling ear : 

" Thy Religion is thy Judge ! 
nature thou wouldst rule becomes 
the serpent that devours thee ! " 

With a shriek of wrath, and woe, 
and despairing resistance, Arbaces 
awoke — his hair on end — his brow 
bathed in dew — his eyes glazed and 
staring — his mighty frame quivering 
45 



#4 The Destruction 



as an infant's beneath the agony of 
that dream. He awoke — he collected 
himself — he blessed the gods whom 
he disbelieved, that he was in a dream ; 
he turned his eyes from side to side 
— he saw the dawning light break 
through his small but lofty window — 

he was in the Precincts of Dav — he 

j 

rejoiced — he smiled; his eyes fell, 
and opposite to him he beheld the 
ghastly features, the lifeless eye, the 
livid lip — of the Hag of Vesuvius ! 

w Ha ! " he cried, placing his hands 
before his eyes, as to shut out the 
grisly vision, " do I dream still ? Am 
I with the dead ? " 

u Mighty Hermes — no ! Thou art 
with one death - like, but not dead. 
Recognise thy friend and slave." 

There was a long silence. Slowly 
46 



of Pompeii f# 



the shudders that passed over the limbs 
of the Egyptian chased each other 
away, faintlier and faintlier dying till 
he was himself again. 

" It was a dream, then," said he. 
" Well — let me dream no more, or 
the day can not compensate for the 
pangs of night. Woman, how earnest 
thou here, and wherefore ? " 

" I came to warn thee," answered 
the sepulchral voice of the saga. 

" Warn me ! The dream lied not, 
then ? Of what peril ? " 

w Listen to me. Some evil hangs 
over this fated city. Fly while it be 
time. Thou knowest that I hold my 
home on that mountain beneath which 
old tradition saith there yet burn the 
fires of the river of Phlegethon ; and 
in my cavern is a vast abyss, and in 
47 



-SH The Destruction 



that abyss I have of late marked a red 
and dull stream creep slowly, slowly 
on ; and heard many and mighty 
sounds hissing and roaring through 
the gloom. But last night, as I looked 
thereon, behold the stream was no 
longer dull, but intensely and fiercely 
luminous ; and while I gazed, the 
beast that liveth with me, and was 
cowering by my side, uttered a shrill 
howl, and fell down and died, 1 and 
the slaver and froth were around his 
lips. I crept back to my lair; but 
I distinctly heard, all the night, the 
rock shake and tremble ; and, though 
the air was heavy and still, there were 
the hissing of pent winds, and the 

1 We may suppose that the exhalations were 
similar in effect to those of the Grotto del 
Cane. 

4 8 



of Pompeii Hr 



grinding as of wheels, beneath the 
ground. So, when I rose this morn- 
ing at the very birth of dawn, I looked 
again down the abyss, and I saw vast 
fragments of stone borne black and 
floatingly over the lurid stream; and 
the stream itself was broader, fiercer, 
redder than the night before. Then I 
went forth, and ascended to the sum- 
mit of the rock ; and in that summit 
there appeared a sudden and vast hol- 
low, which I had never perceived be- 
fore, from which curled a dim, faint 
smoke ; and the vapour was deathly, 
and I gasped, and sickened, and nearly 
died. I returned home, I took my 
gold and my drugs, and left the habita- 
tion of many years ; for I remembered 
the dark Etruscan prophecy which 
saith, c When the mountain opens, the 
49 



#4 The Destruction 



city shall fall — when the smoke 
crowns the Hill of the Parched 
Fields, there shall be woe and weep- 
ing in the hearths of the Children of 
the Sea.' Dread master, ere I leave 
these walls for some more distant 
dwelling, I come to thee. As thou 
livest, know I in my heart that the 
earthquake that sixteen years ago 
shook this city to its solid base was 
but the forerunner of more deadly 
doom. The walls of Pompeii are 
built above the fields of the Dead, 
and the rivers of the sleepless Hell. 
Be warned and fly ! " 

" Witch, I thank thee for thy care 
of one not ungrateful. On yon table 
stands a cup of gold ; take it, it is 
thine. I dreamed not that there lived 
one, out of the priesthood of Isis, who 
50 



of Pompeii Hr 

would have saved Arbaces from de- 
struction. The signs thou hast seen in 
the bed of the extinct volcano," con- 
tinued the Egyptian, musingly, " surely 
tell of some coming danger to the city ; 
perhaps another earthquake fiercer than 
the last. Be that as it may, there is 
a new reason for my hastening from 
these walls, After this day I will 
prepare my departure. Daughter of 
Etruria, whither wendest thou ? " 

" I shall cross over to Herculaneum 
this day, and, wandering thence along 
the coast, shall seek out a new home. 
I am friendless ; my two companions, 
the fox and the snake, are dead. Great 
Hermes, thou hast promised me twenty 
additional years of life ! " 

" Ay," said the Egyptian, " I have 
promised thee. But, woman," he 
5 1 



tH The Destruction 



added, lifting himself upon his arm, 
and gazing curiously on her face, 
" tell me, I pray thee, wherefore thou 
wishest to live ? What sweets dost 
thou discover in existence ? " 

" It is not life that is sweet, but 
death that is awful," replied the hag, in 
a sharp, impressive tone, that struck 
forcibly upon the heart of the vain 
star-seer. He winced at the truth of 
the reply ; and, no longer anxious to 
retain so uninviting a companion, he 
said, u Time wanes ; I must prepare 
for the solemn spectacle of this day. 
Sister, farewell ! enjoy thyself as thou 
canst over the ashes of life." 

The hag, who had placed the costly 
gift of Arbaces in the loose folds of 
her vest, now rose to depart. When 
she had gained the door she paused, 



of Pompeii He 

turned back, and said, " This may be 
the last time we meet on earth ; but 
whither flyeth the flame when it leaves 
the ashes ? Wandering to and fro, up 
and down, as an exhalation on the 
morass, the flame may be seen in 
the marshes of the lake below; and 
the witch and the Magian, the pupil 
and the master, the great one and the 
accursed one, may meet again. Fare- 
well ! " 

" Out, croaker ! " muttered Arbaces, 
as the door closed on the hag's tat- 
tered robes ; and, impatient of his own 
thoughts, not yet recovered from the 
past dream, he hastily summoned his 
slaves. 

It was the custom to attend the 
ceremonials of the amphitheatre in 
festive robes, and Arbaces arrayed 
53 



~H The Destruction 



himself that day with more than 
usual care. His tunic was of the 
most dazzling white ; his many fibulae 
were formed from the most precious 
stones : over his tunic flowed a loose 
Eastern robe, half-gown, half-mantle, 
glowing in the richest hues of the 
Tyrian dye ; and the sandals, that 
reached half-way up the knee, were 
studded with gems, and inlaid with 
gold. 

It was customary for men of rank 
to be accompanied to the shows of the 
amphitheatre by a procession of their 
slaves and freedmen ; and the long 
"family" of Arbaces were alreadv 
arranged in order, to attend the litter 
of their lord. 

" Callias," said Arbaces, apart to his 
freedman, who was buckling on his 
54 



of Pompeii He 



girdle, "I am weary of Pompeii; I 
propose to quit it in three days, should 
the wind favour. Thou knowest the 
vessel that lies in the harbour which 
belonged to Narses, of Alexandria; I 
have purchased it of him. The day 
after to-morrow we shall begin to 
remove my stores." 

" So soon ! 'Tis well. Arbaces 
shall be obeyed — and his ward, 
lone ? " 

" Accompanies me. Enough ! — Is 
the morning fair ? " 

" Dim and oppressive ; it will prob- 
ably be intensely hot in the forenoon." 

"The poor gladiators, and more 
wretched criminals ! Descend, and 
see that the slaves are marshalled." 

Left alone, Arbaces stepped into his 
chamber of study, and thence upon the 
55 



The Destruction 



portico without. He saw the dense 
masses of men pouring fast into the 
amphitheatre, and heard the cry of the 
assistants, and the cracking of the cor- 
dage, as they were straining aloft the 
huge awning under which the citizens, 
molested by no discomforting ray, were 
to behold, at luxurious ease, the agonies 
of their fellow creatures. Suddenly a 
wild strange sound went forth, and as 
suddenly died away — it was the roar 
of the lion. There was a silence in 
the distant crowd ; but the silence was 
followed by joyous laughter — they 
were making merry at the hungry 
impatience of the royal beast. 

" Brutes ! 99 muttered the disdainful 
Arbaces, " are ye less homicides than 
I am? / slay but in self-defence — ye 
make murder pastime." 

56 



of Pompeii ^ 

He turned with a restless and cu- 
rious eye toward Vesuvius. Beau- 
tifully glowed the green vineyards 
around its breast, and tranquil as eter- 
nity lay in the breathless skies the form 
of the mighty hill. 

" We have time yet, if the earth- 
quake be nursing," thought Arbaces ; 
and he turned from the spot. He 
passed by the table which bore his 
mystic scrolls and Chaldean calcula- 
tions. 

" August art ! " he thought, " I have 
not consulted thy decrees since I passed 
the danger and the crisis they foretold. 
What matter ? — I know that henceforth 
all in my path is bright and smooth. 
Have not events already proved it ? 
Away, doubt — away, pity ! Reflect, 
O my heart — reflect, for the future 
57 



#4 The Destruction 



but two images — Empire and Great- 
ness." 

II. 

^JpHE procession of Arbaces moved 
along slowly, and with much sol- 
emnity, till now, arriving at the place 
where it was necessary for such as 
came in litters or chariots to alight, Ar- 
baces descended from his vehicle, and 
proceeded to the entrance by which 
the more distinguished spectators 
were admitted. His slaves, mingling 
with the humbler crowd, were sta- 
tioned by officers who received their 
tickets (not much unlike our modern 
opera ones), in places in the popularia 
(the seats apportioned to the vulgar). 
And now, from the spot where Arbaces 
sat, his eyes scanned the mighty and 
58 



of Pompeii Hr 



impatient crowd that filled the stupen- 
dous theatre. 

On the upper tier (but apart from 
the male spectators) sat the women, 
their gay dresses resembling some 
gaudy flower-bed ; it is needless to 
add that they were the most talkative 
part of the assembly ; and many were 
the looks directed up to them, espe- 
cially from the benches appropriated to 
the young and the unmarried men. 
On the lower seats around the arena 
sat the more high-born and wealthy 
visitors — the magistrates and those 
of senatorial or equestrian 1 dignity : 
the passages which, by corridors at the 
right and left, gave access to these 
seats, at either end of the oval arena, 

1 The equites sat immediately behind the 
senators. 

59 



#4 The Destruction 



were also the entrances for the 
combatants. Strong palings at these 
passages prevented any unwelcome 
eccentricity in the movements of the 
beasts, and confined them to their 
appointed prey. Around the parapet 
which was raised above the arena, and 
from which the seats gradually rose, 
were gladiatorial inscriptions, and paint- 
ings wrought in fresco, typical of the 
entertainments for which the place was 
designed. Throughout the whole 
building wound invisible pipes, from 
which, as the day advanced, cooling 
and fragrant showers were to be 
sprinkled over the spectators. The 
officers of the amphitheatre were 
still employed in the task of fixing 
the vast awning (or velaria) which 
covered the whole, and which luxurious 
60 



of Pompeii Hr 



invention the Campanians arrogated to 
themselves : it was woven of the 
whitest Apulian wool, and variegated 
with broad stripes of crimson. Owing 
either to some inexperience on the part 
of the workmen, or to some defect in 
the machinery, the awning, however, 
was not arranged that day so happily 
as usual ; indeed, from the immense 
space of the circumference, the task 
was always one of great difficulty and 
art — so much so, that it could seldom 
be adventured in rough or windy 
weather. But the present day was so 
remarkably still, that there seemed 
to the spectators no excuse for the 
awkwardness of the artificers ; and 
when a large gap in the back of 
the awning was still visible, from 
the obstinate refusal of one part of the 
61 



The Destruction 



velaria to ally itself with the rest, 
the murmurs of discontent were loud 
and general. 

The aedile Pansa, at whose expense 
the exhibition was given, looked par- 
ticularly annoyed at the defect, and 
vowed bitter vengeance on the head 
of the chief officer of the show, who 
fretting, puffing, perspiring, busied him- 
self in idle orders and unavailing 
threats. 

The hubbub ceased suddenly — the 
operators desisted — the crowd were 
stilled — the gap was forgotten — for 
now, with a loud and warlike flourish 
of trumpets, the gladiators, marshalled 
in ceremonious procession, entered the 
arena. They swept around the oval 
space very slowly and deliberately, in 
order to give the spectators full leisure 
62 



of Pompeii H£ 



to admire their stern serenity of feature 
— their brawny limbs and various arms, 
as well as to form such wagers as the 
excitement of the moment might 
suggest. 

" Oh ! " cried the widow Fulvia to 
the wife of Pansa, as they leaned down 
from their lofty bench, " do you see that 
gigantic gladiator ? how drolly he is 
dressed ! " 

" Yes," said the aedile's wife, with 
complacent importance, for she knew 
all the names and qualities of each 
combatant ; " he is a retiarius, or 
netter > he is armed only, you see, with 
a three-pronged spear like a trident, 
and a net ; he wears no armour, only 
the fillet and the tunic. He is a 
mighty man, and is to fight with 
Sporus, yon thick-set gladiator, with 

63 



The Destruction 



the round shield and drawn sword, 
but without body armour; he has not 
his helmet on now, in order that you 
may see his face, — how fearless it is ! 
— by and by he will fight with his 
visor down." 

" But surely a net and a spear are 
poor arms against a shield and sword ? " 

" That shows how innocent you 
are, my dear Fulvia; the retiarius has 
generally the best of it." 

" But who is yon handsome gladia- 
tor, nearly naked — is it not quite 
improper ? By Venus ! but his limbs 
are beautifully shaped ! " 

" It is Lydon, a young untried man ! 
he has the rashness to fight yon other 
gladiator similarly dressed, or rather 
undressed — Tetraides. They fight 
first in the Greek fashion with the 
64 



of Pompeii Hr 



cestus y afterward they put on armour, 
and try sword and shield." 

" He is a proper man, this Lydon ; 
and the women, I am sure, are on his 
side." 

" So are not the experienced betters ; 
Clodius offers three to one against him." 

" Oh, Jove ! how beautiful ! " ex- 
claimed the widow, as two gladiators, 
armed cap-a-pie, rode around the arena 
on light and prancing s^.eds. Resem- 
bling much the combatants in the tilts 
of the middle age, they bore lances 
and round shields beautifully inlaid : 
their armour was woven intricately 
with bands of iron, but it covered only 
the thighs and the right arms ; short 
cloaks, extending to the seat, gave a 
picturesque and graceful air to their 
costume ; their legs were naked with 
65 



#4 The Destruction 



the exception of sandals, which 
were fastened a little above the ankle. 
" Oh, beautiful ! Who are these ? " 
asked the widow. 

u The one is named Berbix — he 
has conquered twelve times ; the other 
assumes the arrogant name of Nobilior. 
They are both Gauls." 

While thus conversing, the first for- 
malities of the show were over. To 
these succeeded a feigned combat with 
wooden swords between the various 
gladiators matched against each other. 
Among these, the skill of two Roman 
gladiators, hired for the occasion, was 
the most admired ; and next to them the 
most graceful combatant was Lydon. 
This sham contest did not last above an 
hour, nor did it attract any very lively 
interest, except among those connois- 
66 



of Pompeii Hr 

seurs of the arena to whom art was 
preferable to more coarse excitement ; 
the body of the spectators were rejoiced 
when it was over ; and when the sym- 
pathy rose to terror. The combatants 
were now arranged in pairs, as agreed 
beforehand; their weapons examined; 
and the grave sports of the day com- 
menced amid the deepest silence — 
broken only by an exciting and prelim- 
inary blast of warlike music. 

It was often customary to begin the 
sports by the most cruel of all, and 
some bestiarius, or gladiator appointed 
to the beasts, was slain first, as an ini- 
tiatory sacrifice. But in the present 
instance, the experienced Pansa thought 
it better that the sanguinary drama 
should advance, not decrease, in in- 
terest and, accordingly, the execution 
67 



#4 The Destruction 

of Olinthus the Christian, reserved for 
the last. It was arranged that the 
two horsemen should first occupy 
the arena > that the foot gladiators, 
paired off, should then be loosed indis- 
criminately on the stage ; that Calixenes 
and the lion should next perform their 
part in the bloody spectacle ; and the 
tiger and the Nazarene be the grand 
finale. And, in the spectacles of Pom- 
peii, the reader of Roman history 
must limit his imagination, nor expect 
to find those vast and wholesale exhi- 
bitions of magnificent slaughter with 
which a Nero or a Caligula regaled the 
inhabitants of the Imperial City. The 
Roman shows, which absorbed the more 
celebrated gladiators, and the chief pro- 
portion of foreign beasts, were indeed 
the very reason why, in the lesser towns 
68 



of Pompeii Hr 



of the empire, the sports of the am- 
phitheatre were comparatively humane 
and rare \ and in this, as in other re- 
spects, Pompeii was but the miniature, 
the microcosm of Rome. Still, it was 
an awful and imposing spectacle, with 
which modern times have, happily, 
nothing to compare ; — a vast theatre, 
rising row upon row, and swarming 
with human beings, from fifteen to 
eighteen thousand in number, intent 
upon no fictitious representation, — no 
tragedy of the stage, — but the actual 
victory or defeat, the exultant life or 
the bloody death, of each and all who 
entered the arena ! 

The two horsemen were now at 
either extremity of the lists (if so they 
might be called) ; and at a given sig- 
nal from Pansa, the combatants started 
69 



The Destruction 



simultaneously as in full collision, each 
advancing his round buckler, each pois- 
ing on high his light yet sturdy javelin ; 
but just when within three paces of his 
opponent, the steed of Berbix suddenly 
halted, wheeled around, and, as Nobi- 
lior was borne rapidly by, his antago- 
nist spurred upon him. The buckler 
of Nobilior, quickly and skilfully ex- 
tended, received a blow which other- 
wise would have been fatal. 

"Well done, Nobilior!" cried the 
praetor, giving the first vent to the 
popular excitement. 

" Bravely struck, my Berbix ! 99 an- 
swered Clodius, from his seat. 

And the wild murmur, swelled by 
many a shout, echoed from side to side. 

The visors of both the horsemen 
were completely closed (like those of 
70 



of Pompeii Hr 



the knights in after times), but the 
head was, nevertheless, the great 
point of assault; and Nobilior, now 
wheeling his charger with no less 
adroitness than his opponent, directed 
his spear full on the helmet of his foe. 
Berbix raised his buckler to shield him- 
self, and his quick-eyed antagonist, 
suddenly lowering his weapon, pierced 
him through the breast. Berbix reeled 
and fell. 

" Nobilior ! Nobilior ! " shouted the 
populace. 

" I have lost ten sestertia," 1 said 
Clodius, between his teeth. 

" Habet ! — he has it," said Pansa, 
deliberately. 

The populace, not yet hardened into 
cruelty, made the signal of mercy ; but 
1 A little more than £So. 
7i 



The Destruction 



as the attendants of the arena ap- 
proached, they found the kindness 
came too late ; — the heart of the 
Gaul had been pierced, and his eyes 
were set in death. It was his life's 
blood that flowed so darkly over the 
sand and sawdust of the arena. 

" It is a pity it was so soon over — 
there was little enough for one's 
trouble," said the widow Fulvia. 

" Yes — I have no compassion for 
Berbix. Any one might have seen 
that Nobilior did but feint. Mark, 
they fix the fatal hook to the body — 
they drag him away to the spoliarium 
— they scatter new sand over the 
stage ! Pansa regrets nothing more 
than that he is not rich enough to 
strew the arena with borax, and cin- 
nabar, as Nero used to do." 

72 



of Pompeii H£ 

" Well, if it has been a brief battle, 
it is quickly succeeded. See my hand- 
some Lydon on the arena — ay, and 
the net-bearer too, and the swords- 
men ! Oh, charming ! " 

There were now on the arena six 
combatants : Niger and his net, 
matched against Sporus with his 
shield and his short broadsword; Ly- 
don and Tetraides, naked save by a 
cincture around the waist, each armed 
only with a heavy Greek cestus ; and 
two gladiators from Rome, clad in 
complete steel, and evenly matched 
with immense bucklers and pointed 
swords. 

The initiatory contest between Ly- 
don and Tetraides being less deadly 
than that between the other combat- 
ants, no sooner had they advanced to 

73 



■JH The Destruction 



the middle of the arena than, as by 
common consent, the rest held back, 
to see how that contest should be 
decided, and wait till fiercer weap- 
ons might replace the cestus, ere 
they themselves commenced hostili- 
ties. They stood leaning on their 
arms and apart from each other, gaz- 
ing on the show, which, if not bloody 
enough thoroughly to please the popu- 
lace, they were still inclined to admire, 
because its origin was of their ances- 
tral Greece. 

No persons could, at first glance, 
have seemed less evenly matched than 
the two antagonists. Tetraides, though 
not taller than Lydon, weighed consid- 
erably more ; the natural size of his 
muscles was increased, to the eyes of 
the vulgar, by masses of solid flesh ; 
74 



of Pompeii Hr 

for, as it was a notion that the contest 
of the cestus fared easiest with him 
who was plumpest, Tetraides had en- 
couraged to the utmost his hereditary 
predisposition to the portly. His 
shoulders were vast, and his lower 
limbs thick-set, double-jointed, and 
slightly curved outward, in that for- 
mation which takes so much from 
beauty to give so largely to strength. 
But Lydon, except that he was slen- 
der even almost to meagreness, was 
beautifully and delicately proportioned ; 
and the skilful might have perceived 
that, with much less compass of muscle 
than his foe, that which he had was 
more seasoned — iron and compact. 
In proportion, too, as he wanted flesh, 
he was likely to possess activity ; and 
a haughty smile on his resolute face, 
75 



#4 The Destruction 



which strongly contrasted the solid 
heaviness of his enemy's, gave assur- 
ance to those who beheld it, and united 
their hope to their pity ; so that, de- 
spite the disparity of their seeming 
strength, the cry of the multitude 
was nearly as loud for Lydon as for 
Tetraides. 

Whoever is acquainted with the 
modern prize-ring — whoever has wit- 
nessed the heavy and disabling strokes 
which the human fist, skilfully directed, 
hath the power to bestow — may easily 
understand how much that happy facil- 
ity would be increased by a band car- 
ried by thongs of leather around the 
arm as high as the elbow, and terribly 
strengthened about the knuckles by a 
plate of iron, and sometimes a plunket 
of lead. Yet this, which was meant 
76 



of Pompeii 



to increase, perhaps rather diminished 
the interest of the fray : for it neces- 
sarily shortened its duration. A very 
few blows, successfully and scientifi- 
cally planted, might suffice to bring 
the contest to a close ; and the battle 
did not, therefore, often allow full 
scope for the energy, fortitude, and 
dogged perseverance, that we techni- 
cally style pluck, which not unusually 
wins the day against superior science, 
and which heightens to so painful a 
delight the interest in the battle and 
the sympathy for the brave. 

" Guard thyself ! " growled Te- 
traides, moving nearer and nearer to 
his foe, who rather shifted around him 
than receded. 

Lydon did not answer, save by a 
scornful glance of his quick, vigilant 
77 



#4 The Destruction 



eye. Tetraides struck — it was as the 
blow of a smith on a vice ; Lydon 
sank suddenly on one knee — the blow 
passed over his head. Not so harmless 
was Lydon's retaliation : he quickly 
sprang to his feet, and aimed his ces- 
tus full on the broad breast of his 
antagonist. Tetraides reeled — the 
populace shouted. 

" You are unlucky to-day," said 
Lepidus to Clodius : " you have lost 
one bet — you will lose another." 

M By the gods ! my bronzes go to 
the auctioneer if that is the case. I 
have no less than a hundred sestertia 1 
upon Tetraides. Ha, ha ! see how he 
rallies ! That was a home stroke : he 
has cut open Lydon's shoulder. — A 
Tetraides ! — a Tetraides ! " 

1 Above £8oo. 
78 



of Pompeii Hr 

" But Lydon is not disheartened. 
By Pollux ! how well he keeps his 
temper ! See how dexterously he 
avoids those hammer-like hands ! — 
dodging now here, now there — cir- 
cling round and round. Ah, poor 
Lydon ! he has it again." 

" Three to one still on Tetraides ! 
What say you, Lepidus ? " 

" Well — nine sestertia to three — 
be it so ! What ! again, Lydon. He 
stops- — he gasps for breath. By the 
gods, he is down ! No — he is again 
on his legs. Brave Lydon ! Tetraides 
is encouraged — he laughs loud — he 
rushes on him." 

" Fool — success blinds him — he 
should be cautious. Lydon's eye is 
like a lynx's ! " said Clodius, between 
his teeth. 

79 



#4 The Destruction 



" Ha, Clodius ! saw you that ? Your 
man totters ! Another blow — he falls 
—he falls ! " 

" Earth revives him then. He is 
once more up ; but the blood rolls 
down his face." 

" By the thunderer ! Lydon wins it. 
See how he presses on him ! That 
blow on the temple would have crushed 
an ox ! it has crushed Tetraides. He 
falls again — he cannot move — habet ! 
— habet!" 

" Habet ! " repeated Pansa. " Take 
them out and give them the armour 
and swords." 

" Noble editor," said the officers, 
" we fear that Tetraides will not re- 
cover in time; howbeit, we will try." 

" Do so," 

In a few minutes the officers, who 

80 



of Pompeii W~ 



had dragged off the stunned and in- 
sensible gladiator, returned with rue- 
ful countenances. They feared for 
his life ; he was utterly incapacitated 
from reentering the arena. 

" In that case," said Pansa, " hold 
Lydon a subditius ; and the first gladi- 
ator that is vanquished, let Lydon sup- 
ply his place with the victor." 

The people shouted their applause 
at this sentence ; then they again 
sunk into deep silence. The trumpet 
sounded loudly. The four combat- 
ants stood each against each in pre- 
pared and stern array. 

" Dost thou recognise the Romans, 
my Clodius ; are they among the cele- 
brated, or are they merely ordinarii ? " 

" Eumolpus is a good second-rate 
swordsman, my Lepidus. Nepimus, 
81 



#4 The Destruction 



the lesser man, I have never seen be- 
fore y but he is the son of one of the 
imperial fiscales, 1 and brought up in 
a proper school ; doubtless they will 
show sport, but I have no heart for 
the game ; I cannot win back my 
money — I am undone. Curses on 
that Lydon ! who could have supposed 
he was so dexterous or so lucky ? 99 

" Well, Clodius, shall I take com- 
passion on you, and accept your own 
terms with these Romans ? " 

" An even ten sestertia on Eumol- 
pus, then ? " 

" What ! when Nepimus is untried ! 
Nay, nay ; that is too bad." 

" Well — ten to eight ? " 

" Agreed." 

While the contest in the amphithe- 

1 Gladiators maintained by the emperor. 

82 



of Pompeii K4 

atre had thus commenced, there was 
one in the loftier benches for whom 
it had assumed, indeed, a poignant — 
a stifling interest. The aged father 
of Lydon, despite his Christian horror 
of the spectacle, in his agonised anx- 
iety for his son, had not been able to 
resist being the spectator of his fate. 
One amid a fierce crowd of strangers 
— the lowest rabble of the populace — 
the old man saw, felt nothing, but the 
form — the presence of his brave son ! 
Not a sound had escaped his lips 
when twice he had seen him fall to 
the earth $ — only he had turned paler, 
and his limbs trembled. But he had 
uttered one low cry when he saw him 
victorious ; unconscious, alas ! of the 
more fearful battle to which that vic- 
tory was but a prelude. 

83 



#4 The Destruction 



" My gallant boy ! " said he, and 
wiped his eyes. 

" Is he thy son ? " said a brawny 
fellow to the right of the Nazarene ; 
" he has fought well : let us see how 
he does by and by. Hark ! he is to 
fight the first victor. Now, old boy, 
pray the gods that that victor be neither 
of the Romans ! nor, next to them, 
the giant Niger." 

The old man sat down again and 
covered his face. The fray for the mo- 
ment was indifferent to him — Lvdon 
was not one of the combatants. Yet — 
yet — the thought flushed across him 

— the fray was indeed of deadly interest 

— the first who fell was to make way 
for Lydon ! He started, and bent 
down, with straining eyes and clasped 
hands, to view the encounter. 

84 



of Pompeii Hr 



The first interest was attracted to- 
ward the combat of Niger with Sporus ; 
for this species of contest, from the 
fatal result which usually attended it, 
and from the great science it required 
in either antagonist, was always pecul- 
iarly inviting to the spectators. 

They stood at a considerable dis- 
tance from each other. The singular 
helmet which Sporus wore (the visor 
of which was down) concealed his 
face ; but the features of Niger at- 
tracted a fearful and universal inter- 
est from their compressed and vigilant 
ferocity. Thus they stood for some 
moments, each eyeing each, until 
Sporus began slowly, and with great 
caution, to advance, holding his sword 
pointed, like a modern fencer's, at the 
breast of his foe. Niger retreated as 
85 



#4 The Destruction 



his antagonist advanced, .gathering up 
his net with his right hand, and never 
taking his small glittering eye from 
the movements of the swordsman. 
Suddenly, when Sporus had approached 
nearly at arm's length, the retiarius 
threw himself forward, and cast his 
net. A quick inflection of body saved 
the gladiator from the deadly snare ! 
he uttered a sharp cry of joy and 
rage, and rushed upon Niger : but 
Niger had already drawn in his net, 
thrown it across his shoulders, and 
now fled around the lists with a swift- 
ness which the secutor 1 in vain endeav- 
oured to equal. The people laughed 

1 So called, from the office of that tribe of 
gladiators, in following the foe the moment the 
net was cast, in order to smite him ere he could 
have time to rearrange it. 

86 



of Pompeii H£ 

and shouted aloud, to see the ineffect- 
ual efforts of the broad-shouldered 
gladiator to overtake the flying giant : 
when, at that moment, their attention 
was turned from these to the two 
Roman combatants. 

They had placed themselves at the 
onset face to face, at the distance of 
modern fencers from each other; but 
the extreme caution which both evinced 
at first had prevented any warmth of 
engagement, and allowed the specta- 
tors full leisure to interest themselves 
in the battle between Sporus and his 
foe. But the Romans were now 
heated into full and fierce encounter; 
they pushed — returned — advanced on 
— retreated from — each other with 
all that careful yet scarcely perceptible 
caution which characterises men well 
87 



#4 The Destruction 



experienced and equally matched. But 
at this moment, Eumolpus, the elder 
gladiator, by that dexterous back-stroke 
which was considered in the arena so 
difficult to avoid, had wounded Nepi- 
mus in the side. The people shouted ; 
Lepidus turned pale. 

" Ho ! " said Clodius, " the game is 
nearly over. If Eumolpus rights now 
the quiet fight, the other will e r adu- 
ally bleed himself away." 

" But, thank the gods ! he does not 
fight the backward fight. See ! — he 
presses hard upon Nepimus. By 
Mars ! but Nepimus had him there ! 
the helmet rang again ! — Clodius, I 
shall win ! " 

u Why do I ever bet but at the 
dice ? " groaned Clodius to himself ; — 
" or why cannot one cog a gladiator? " 
88 



of Pompeii i4c 



" A Sporus ! — a Sporus ! " shouted 
the populace, as Niger, now having 
suddenly paused, had again cast his 
net, and again unsuccessfully. He had 
not retreated this time with sufficient 
agility — the sword of Sporus had 
inflicted a severe wound upon his 
right leg ; and, incapacitated to fly, 
he was pressed hard by the fierce 
swordsman. His great height and 
length of arm still continued, however, 
to give him no despicable advantages ; 
and steadily keeping his trident at the 
front of his foe, he repelled him suc- 
cessfully for several minutes. Sporus 
now tried, by great rapidity of evolu- 
tion, to get around his antagonist, 
who necessarily moved with pain and 
slowness. In so doing, he lost his 
caution — he advanced too near to the 



#4 The Destruction 



giant — raised his arm to strike, and 
received the three points of the fatal 
spear full in his breast ! He sank on 
his knee. In a moment more, the 
deadly net was cast over him, — he 
struggled against its meshes in vain ; 
again — again — again he writhed 
mutely beneath the fresh strokes of 
the trident — his blood flowed fast 
through the net and redly over the 
sand. He lowered his arms in ac- 
knowledgment of defeat. 

The conquering retiarius withdrew 
his net, and, leaning on his spear, 
looked to the audience for their judg- 
ment. Slowly, too, at the same mo- 
ment, the vanquished gladiator rolled 
his dim and despairing eyes around 
the theatre. From row to row, from 
bench to bench, there glared upon 

QO 



of Pompeii t# 



him but merciless and unpitying 
eyes. 

Hushed was the roar — the murmur ! 
The silence was dread, for in it was 
no sympathy ; not a hand — no, not 
even a woman's hand — gave the sig- 
nal of charity and life ! Sporus had 
never been popular in the arena; and, 
lately, the interest of the combat had 
been excited on behalf of the wounded 
Niger. The people were warmed into 
blood — the mimic fight had ceased to 
charm ; the interest had mounted up 
to the desire of sacrifice and the thirst 
of death ! 

The gladiator felt that his doom 
was sealed ; he uttered no prayer — 
no groan. The people gave the signal 
of death ! In dogged but agonised 
submission, he bent his neck to re- 
9i 



tN The Destruction 



ceive the fatal stroke. And now, as 
the spear of the retiarius was not a 
weapon to inflict instant and certain 
death, there stalked into the arena 
a grim and fatal form, brandishing a 
short, sharp sword, and with features 
utterly concealed beneath its visor. 
With slow and measured steps, this 
dismal headsman approached the gladi- 
ator, still kneeling — laid the left hand 
on his humbled crest — drew the edge 
of the blade across his neck — turned 
around to the assembly, lest, in the 
last moment, remorse should come 
upon them ; the dread signal contin- 
ued the same : the blade glittered 
brightly in the air — fell — and the 
gladiator rolled upon the sand ; his 
limbs quivered — were still, — he was 
a corpse. 

92 



of Pompeii H£ 



His body was dragged at once from 
the arena through the gate of death, 
and thrown into the gloomy den 
termed technically the spoliarium. And 
ere it had well reached that destina- 
tion, the strife between the remaining 
combatants was decided. The sword 
of Eumolpus had inflicted the death- 
wound upon the less experienced com- 
batant. A new victim was added to 
the receptacle of the slain. 

Throughout that mighty assembly 
there now ran a universal movement ; 
the people breathed more freely, and 
resettled themselves in their seats. A 
grateful shower was cast over every 
row from the concealed conduits. In 
cool and luxurious pleasure they talked 
over the late spectacle of blood. Eu- 
molpus removed his helmet, and wiped 
93 



The Destruction 



his brows ; his close-curled hair and 
short beard, his noble Roman features 
and bright dark eye, attracted the gen- 
eral admiration. He was fresh, un- 
wounded, unfatigued. 

The editor paused, and proclaimed 
aloud that, as Niger's wound disabled 
him from again entering the arena, 
Lydon was to be the successor to the 
slaughtered Nepimus, and the new 
combatant of Eumolpus. 

" Yet, Lydon," added he, " if thou 
wouldst decline the combat with one 
so brave and tried, thou mayst have 
full liberty to do so. Eumolpus is not 
the antagonist that was originally de- 
creed for thee. Thou knowest best 
how far thou canst cope with him. If 
thou failest, thy doom is honourable 
death -> if thou conquerest, out of my 
94 



of Pompeii Hr 



own purse I will double the stipulated 
prize." 

The people shouted applause. Lydon 
stood in the lists, he gazed around ; high 
above he beheld the pale face, the strain- 
ing eyes, of his father. He turned away 
irresolute for a moment. No ! the con- 
quest of the cestus was not sufficient — 
he had not yet won the prize of vic- 
tory — his father was still a slave ! 

" Noble aedile ! " he replied, in a firm 
and deep tone, " I shrink not from this 
combat. For the honour of Pompeii, 
I demand that one trained by its long 
celebrated lanista shall do battle with 
this Roman." 

The people shouted louder than 
before. 

" Four to one against Lydon ! " said 
Clodius to Lepidus. 

95 



tH The Destruction 

" I would not take twenty to one ! 
Why, Eumolpus is a very Achilles, 
and this poor fellow is but a tyro ! " 

Eumolpus gazed hard on the face 
of Lydon ; he smiled ; yet the smile 
was followed by a slight and scarce 
audible sigh — a touch of compassion- 
ate emotion, which custom conquered 
the moment the heart acknowledged 
it. 

And now both, clad in complete 
armour, the sword drawn, the visor 
closed, the two last combatants of 
the arena (ere man, at least, was 
matched with beast), stood opposed 
to each other. 

It was just at this time that a letter 
was delivered to the praetor by one 
of the attendants of the arena; he 
removed the cincture — glanced over 
96 



of Pompeii 

it for a moment — his countenance 
betrayed surprise and embarrassment. 
He reread the letter and then, mutter- 
ing, — " Tush ! it is impossible ! — the 
man must be drunk, even in the morn- 
ing, to dream of such follies ! " — threw 
it carelessly aside, and gravely settled 
himself once more in the attitude of 
attention to the sports. 

The interest of the public was 
wound up very high. Eumolpus had 
at first won their favour; but the 
gallantry of Lydon, and his well-timed 
allusion to the honour of the Pompeian 
lanista, had afterward given the latter 
the preference in their eyes. 

" Holla, old fellow ! " said Medon's 
neighbour to him. " Your son is hardly 
matched ; but never fear, the editor will 
not permit him to be slain — no, nor 
97 



#4 The Destruction 



the people neither; he has behaved 
too bravely for that. Ha ! that was 
a home thrust ! — well averted, by 
Pollux ! At him again, Lydon ! — 
they stop to breathe ! What art thou 
muttering, old boy ? " 

" Prayers ! " answered Medon, with 
a more calm and hopeful mien than 
he had yet maintained. 

" Prayers ! — trifles ! The time for 
gods to carry a man away in a cloud 
is gone now. Ha, Jupiter ! — what 
a blow ! Thy side — thy side ! — take 
care of thy side, Lydon ! " 

There was a convulsive tremour 
throughout the assembly. A fierce 
blow from Eumolpus, full on the crest, 
had brought Lydon to his knee. 

" Habet ! — he has it ! " cried a 
shrill female voice ; u he has it ! " 
98 



of Pompeii 

It was the voice of the girl who had 
so anxiously anticipated the sacrifice 
of some criminal to the beasts. 

" Be silent, child ! " said the wife 
of Pansa, haughtily. " Non habet ! — 
he is not wounded ! " 

" I wish he were, if only to spite 
old surly Medon," muttered the girl. 

Meanwhile Lydon, who had hitherto 
defended himself with great skill and 
valour, began to give way before the 
vigorous assaults of the practised 
Roman ; his arm grew tired, his eye 
dizzy, he breathed hard and painfully. 
The combatants paused again for 
breath. 

" Young man," said Eumolpus, in 
a low voice, " desist ; I will wound 
thee slightly — then lower thy arm ; 
thou hast propitiated the editor and 

99 

LofC. 



The Destruction 



the mob — thou wilt be honourably 
saved ! " 

u And my father still enslaved ! " 
groaned Lydon, to himself. " No ! 
death or his freedom." 

At that thought, and seeing that, 
his strength not being equal to the 
endurance of the Roman, everything 
depended on a sudden and desperate 
effort, he threw himself fiercely on 
Eumolpus ; the Roman warily retreated 
— Lydon thrust again — Eumolpus 
drew himself aside — the sword grazed 
his cuirass — Lydon's breast was ex- 
posed — the Roman plunged his sword 
through the joints of his armour, not 
meaning, however, to inflict a deep 
wound ; Lydon, weak and exhausted, 
fell forward, fell right on the point : 
it passed through and through, even 
ioo 



of Pompeii 

to the back. Eumolpus drew forth 
his blade ; Lydon still made an effort 
to regain his balance — his sword left 
his grasp — he struck mechanically 
at the gladiator with his naked hand, 
and fell prostrate on the arena. With 
one accord, editor and assembly made 
the signal of mercy — the officers of 
the arena approached — they took 
off the helmet of the vanquished. 
He still breathed ; his eyes rolled 
fiercely on his foe ; the savageness he 
had acquired in his calling glared from 
his gaze and lowered upon the brow 
darkened already with the shades of 
death ; then, with a convulsive groan, 
with a half-start, he lifted his eyes 
above. They rested not on the face 
of the editor nor on the pitying brows 
of his relenting judges. He saw them 

TOI 



The Destruction 



not ; they were as if the vast space 
was desolate and bare ; one pale agonis- 
ing face alone was all he recognised — 
one cry of a broken heart was all that, 
amid the murmurs and shouts of the 
populace, reached his ear. The feroc- 
ity vanished from his brow : a soft, 
a tender expression of sanctifying but 
despairing filial love played over his 
features — played — waned — dark- 
ened ! His face suddenly became 
locked and rigid, resuming its former 
fierceness. He fell upon the earth. 

" Look to him," said the aedile ; 
" he has done his duty ! " 

The officers dragged him off to the 
spoliarium. 

" A true type of glory and of its 
fate ! " murmured Arbaces to himself ; 
and his eye, glancing around the 

102 



of Pompeii Hr 



amphitheatre, betrayed so much of 
disdain and scorn, that whoever en- 
countered it felt his breath suddenly 
arrested, and his emotions frozen into 
one sensation of abasement and awe. 

Again rich perfumes were wafted 
around the theatre ; the attendants 
sprinkled fresh sand over the arena. 

" Bring forth the lion and Olinthus 
the Christian," said the editor. 

And a deep and breathless hush 
of overwrought interest, and intense 
(yet, strange to say, not unpleasing) 
terror lay, like a mighty and awful 
dream, over the assembly. 



103 



#4 The Destruction 



III. 

/~\LINTHUS the Christian and a 
Macedonian gladiator had been 
placed together in that gloomy and 
narrow cell in which the criminals of 
the arena waited their last and fearful 
struggle. Their eyes, of late ac- 
customed to the darkness, scanned 
the faces of each other in this awful 
hour, and by that dim light the pale- 
ness, which chased away the natural 
hues from either cheek, assumed a yet 
more ashy and ghastly whiteness. Yet 
their brows were erect and dauntless — 
their limbs did not tremble — their lips 
were compressed and rigid. The relig- 
ion of the one, the pride of the other, 
the conscious innocence of both, and 
104 



of Pompeii 



it may be the support derived from 
their mutual companionship, elevated 
the victim into the hero. 

" Hark ! hearest thou that shout ? 
They are growling over their human 
blood," said Olinthus. 

" I hear ; my heart grows sick ; but 
the gods support me." 

" The gods ! O rash young man ! 
in this hour recognise only the One 
God. Have I not taught thee in the 
dungeon, wept for thee, prayed for 
thee ? — in my zeal and in my agony, 
have I not thought more of thy salva- 
tion than my own ? " 

" Brave friend ! " answered the 
Macedonian, solemnly, " I have lis- 
tened to thee with awe, with wonder, 
and with a secret tendency toward 
conviction. Had our lives been spared, 
io 5 



tH The Destruction 



I might gradually have weaned myself 
from the tenets of my own faith, and 
inclined to thine ; but, in this last hour, 
it were a craven thing and a base, 
to yield to hasty terror what should 
only be the result of lengthened medi- 
tation. Were I to embrace thy creed, 
and cast down my father's gods, should 
I not be bribed by thy promise of 
heaven, or awed by thy threats of hell ? 
Olinthus, no. Think we of each other 
with equal charity — I honouring thy 
sincerity — thou pitying my blindness 
or my obdurate courage. As have been 
my deeds, such will be my reward ; 
and the Power of Powers above will 
not judge harshly of human error, 
when it is linked with honesty of pur- 
pose and truth of heart. Speak we 
no more of this. Hush ! Dost thou 
1 06 



of Pompeii Hf 

hear them drag yon heavy body through 
the passage ? Such as that clay will 
be ours soon." 

" O Heaven ! O Christ ! already I 
behold ye ! " cried the fervent Olinthus, 
lifting up his hands ; " I tremble not 
— I rejoice that the prison-house shall 
be soon broken." 

The gladiator bowed his head in 
silence. He felt the distinction be- 
tween his fortitude and that of his 
fellow-sufferer. The heathen did not 
tremble ; but the Christian exulted. 

The door swung gratingly back — 
the gleam of spears shot along the 
walls. 

" Calixenes the Macedonian, thy 
time has come," said a loud and clear 
voice ; " the lion awaits thee." 

" I am ready," said the Macedonian. 

107 



tH The Destruction 



" Brother and co-mate, one last em- 
brace ! Bless me — and, farewell ! 99 

The Christian opened his arms — ■ he 
clasped the young heathen to his breast 
— he kissed his forehead and cheek — 
he sobbed aloud — his tears flowed 
fast and hot over the features of his 
new friend. 

" Oh ! could I have converted thee, 
I had not wept. Oh ! that I might 
say to thee, c We two shall sup this 
night in Paradise ! ' " 

" It may be so yet," answered the 
Macedonian, with a tremulous voice. 
" They whom death parts now, may 
yet meet beyond the grave : on the 
earth — on the beautiful, the beloved 
earth, farewell for ever ! — Worthy 
officer, I attend you." 

Calixenes tore himself away ; and 
1 08 



of Pompeii f# 



when he came forth into the air, its 
breath, which, though sunless, was hot 
and arid, smote witheringly upon him. 
His frame, not yet restored from the 
effects of the deadly draught, shrank 
and trembled. The officers supported 
him. 

" Courage ! " said one ; " thou art 
young, active, well knit. They give 
thee a weapon ! despair not, and thou 
mayst yet conquer." 

Calixenes did not reply ; but, 
ashamed of his infirmity, he made 
a desperate and convulsive effort, and 
regained the firmness of his nerves. 
They anointed his body, completely 
naked save by a cincture around the 
loins, placed the stilus (vain weapon !) 
in his hand, and led him into the 
arena. 

109 



#4 The Destruction 



And now when the Macedonian saw 
the eyes of thousands and tens of thou- 
sands upon him, he no longer felt that 
he was mortal. All evidence of fear — 
all fear itself — was gone. A red and 
haughty flush spread over the paleness 
of his features — he towered aloft to 
the full of his glorious stature. In the 
elastic beauty of his limbs and form, 
in his intent but unfrowning brow, in 
the high disdain, and in the indom- 
itable soul, which breathed visibly, 
which spoke audibly, from his attitude, 
his lip, his eye, — he seemed the very 
incarnation, vivid and corporeal, of 
the valour of his land — of the divinity 
of its worship — at once a hero and 
a god ! 

" By Venus, how warm it is ! " said 
Fulvia; u yet there is no sun. Would 

I 10 



of Pompeii 



that those stupid sailors 1 could have 
fastened up that gap in the awning ! " 

" Oh, it is warm, indeed. I turn 
sick — I faint!" said the wife of 
Pansa ; even her experienced stoicism 
giving way at the struggle about to 
take place. 

The lion had been kept without 
food for twenty-four hours, and the 
animal had, during the whole morning, 
testified a singular and restless uneasi- 
ness, which the keeper had attributed 
to the pangs of hunger. Yet its bear- 
ing seemed rather that of fear than of 
rage ; its roar was painful and dis- 
tressed ; it hung its head — snuffed 
the air through the bars — then lay 
down — started again — and again 

1 Sailors were generally employed in fasten- 
ing the velaria of the amphitheatre, 
m 



The Destruction 



uttered its wild and far-resounding 
crieso And now, in its den, it lay 
utterly dumb and mute, with dis- 
tended nostrils forced hard against the 
grating, and disturbing, with a heaving 
breath, the sand below on the arena. 

The editor's lip quivered, and his 
cheek grew pale ; he looked anxiously 
around — hesitated — delayed ; the 
crowd became impatient. Slowly he 
gave the sign ; the keeper, who was 
behind the den, cautiously removed 
the grating, and the lion leaped forth 
with a mighty and glad roar of release. 
The keeper hastily retreated through 
the grated passage leading from the 
arena, and left the lord of the forest 
— and his prey. 

Calixenes had bent his limbs so as 
to give himself the firmest posture at 
113 



of Pompeii Hr 



the expected rush of the lion, with his 
small and shining weapon raised on 
high, in the faint hope that one well- 
directed thrust (for he knew that he 
should have time but for one) might 
penetrate through the eye to the brain 
of his grim foe. 

But, to the unutterable astonishment 
of all, the beast seemed not even aware 
of the presence of the criminal. 

At the first moment of its release it 
halted abruptly in the arena, raised 
itself half on end, snuffing the upward 
air with impatient sighs ; then suddenly 
it sprang forward, but not on the Mace- 
donian. At half-speed it circled around 
and around the space, turning its vast 
head from side to side with an anxious 
and perturbed gaze, as if seeking only 
some avenue of escape; once or twice 
W3 



-?H The Destruction 



it endeavoured to leap up the parapet 
that divided it from the audience, and, 
on falling, uttered rather a baffled howl 
than its deep-toned and kingly roar. It 
evinced no sign, either of wrath or 
hunger ; its tail drooped along the sand, 
instead of lashing its gaunt sides ; and 
its eye, though it wandered at times to 
Calixenes, rolled again listlessly from 
him. At length, as if tired of attempt- 
ing to escape, it crept with a moan into 
its cage, and once more laid itself 
down to rest. 

The first surprise of the assembly at 
the apathy of the lion soon grew con- 
verted into resentment at its coward- 
ice ; and the populace already merged 
their pity for the fate of Calixenes into 
angry compassion for their own dis- 
appointment. 

114 



of Pompeii |# 



The editor called to the keeper. 

" How is this ? Take the goad, 
prick him forth, and then close the 
door of the den." 

As the keeper, with some fear but 
more astonishment, was preparing to 
obey, a loud cry was heard from one 
of the booths of the arena; there was 
a confusion, a bustle — voices of re- 
monstrance suddenly breaking forth, 
and suddenly silenced at the reply. 
All eyes turned, in wonder at the inter- 
ruption, toward the quarter of the 
disturbance, and beheld Arbaces the 
Egyptian rise from his seat. 

He stretched his hand on high ; over 
his lofty brow and royal features there 
came an expression of unutterable so- 
lemnity and command. 

" Behold ! " he shouted, with a voice 
"5 



#=; The Destruction 



of thunder, which stilled the roar of 
the crowd ; " behold how the gods pro- 
tect the weak ! The fires of the aveng- 
ing Orcus burst forth against this cruel 
throng ! " 

The eyes of the crowd followed the 
gesture of the Egyptian, and beheld, 
with ineffable dismay, a vast vapour 
shooting from the summit of Vesuvius, 
in the form of a gigantic pine-tree ; the 
trunk, blackness, — the branches, fire ! 
— a fire that shifted and wavered in 
its hues v/ith every moment, now 
fiercely luminous, now of a dull and 
dying red, that again blazed terrifically 
forth with intolerable glare ! 

There was a dead, heart-sunken 
silence — through which there sud- 
denly broke the roar of the lion, 
which was echoed back from within 
116 



of Pompeii Hr 



the building by the sharper and fiercer 
yells of its fellow beast. Dread seers 
were they of the Burden of the Atmos- 
phere, and wild prophets of the wrath 
to come ! 

Then there arose on high the uni- 
versal shrieks of women ; the men 
stared at each other, but were dumb. 
At that moment they felt the earth 
shake beneath their feet ; the walls of 
the theatre trembled ; and beyond, in 
the distance, they heard the crash of 
falling roofs ; an instant more and the 
mountain-cloud seemed to roll toward 
them, dark and rapid, like a torrent ; at 
the same time, it cast forth from its 
bosom a shower of ashes mixed with 
vast fragments of burning stone ! Over 
the crushing vines, — over the desolate 
streets, — over the amphitheatre itself, 
"7 



#4 The Destruction 



— far and wide, — with many a mighty 
splash in the agitated sea, — fell that 
awful shower ! 

No longer thought the crowd of 
Calixenes or of Olinthus ; safety for 
themselves was their sole thought. 
Each turned to fly — each dashing, 
pressing, crushing, against the other. 
Trampling recklessly over the fallen, 

— amid groans, and oaths, and prayers, 
and sudden shrieks, the enormous 
crowd vomited itself forth through 
the numerous passages. Whither 
should they fly ? Some, anticipating 
a second earthquake, hastened to their 
homes to load themselves with their 
most costly goods, and escape while it 
was yet time ; others, dreading the 
showers of ashes that now fell fast, 
torrent upon torrent, over the streets, 

nS 



of Pompeii : M 

rushed under the roofs of the nearest 
houses, or temples, or sheds — shelter 
of any kind — for protection from the 
terrors of the open air. But darker, 
and larger, and mightier, spread the 
cloud above them. It was a sudden 
and more ghastly Night rushing upon 
the realm of Noon ! 

IV. 

" ^jpHE mountain ! the earthquake ! " 

resounded from side to side. 
The officers fled with the rest ; they 
left Olinthus and others to save them- 
selves as they might. 

As the sense of the dangers around 
them flashed on the Macedonian, his 
generous heart recurred to Olinthus. 
He, too, was reprieved from the tiger 
119 



#4 The Destruction 



by the hand of the gods ; should he be 
left to a no less fatal death in the 
neighbouring cell ? Calixenes hurried 
across the passages ; he gained the den 
of the Christian. He found Olinthus 
kneeling and in prayer. 

" Arise ! arise ! my friend," he cried. 
u Save thyself, and fly ! See ; Nature 
is thy dread deliverer ! " He led forth 
the bewildered Christian, and pointed 
to a cloud which advanced darker and 
darker, disgorging forth showers of 
ashes and pumice-stones \ — and bade 
him hearken to the cries and trampling 
rush of the scattered crowd. 

" This is the hand of God — God 
be praised ! " said Olinthus, devoutly. 

" Fly ! seek thy brethren ! Concert 
with them thy escape. Farewell ! " 

Olinthus did not answer, neither did 
1 20 



of Pompeii Hr 

he mark the retreating form of his 
friend. High thoughts and solemn 
absorbed his soul ; and in the enthu- 
siasm of his kindling heart he exulted 
in the mercy of God rather than 
trembled at the evidence of his power. 

At length he roused himself, and 
hurried on, he scarce knew whither. 

The open doors of a dark, desolate 
cell suddenly appeared on his path ; 
through the gloom within there flared 
and flickered a single lamp ; and by its 
light he saw three grim and naked 
forms stretched on the earth in death. 
His feet were suddenly arrested : for, 
amid the terrors of that drear recess, 
— the spoliarium of the arena, — he 
heard a low voice calling on the name 
of Christ ! 

He could not resist lingering at that 

121 



The Destruction 



appeal ; he entered the den, and his 
feet were dabbled in the slow streams 
of blood that gushed from the corpses 
over the sand. 

" Who," said the Nazarene, " calls 
upon the Son of God ? " 

No answer came forth; and turning 
around, Olinthus beheld, by the light of 
the lamp, an old, gray-headed man sit- 
ting on the floor, and supporting in 
his lap the head of one of the dead. 
The features of the dead man were 
firmly and rigidly locked in the 
last sleep ; but over the lip there played 
a fierce smile — not the Christian's 
smile of hope, but the dark sneer of 
hatred and defiance. 

Yet on the face still lingered the 
beautiful roundness of early youth. 
The hair curled thick and glossy over 

122 



of Pompeii §# 

the unwrinkled brow ; and the down 
of manhood but slightly shaded the 
marble of the hueless cheek. And 
over this face bent one of such unut- 
terable sadness — of such yearning 
tenderness — of such fond, and such 
deep despair ! The tears of the old 
man fell fast and hot, but he did not 
feel them ; and when his lips moved, 
and he mechanically uttered the prayer 
of his benign and hopeful faith, neither 
his heart nor his sense responded to 
the words : it was but the involuntary 
emotion that broke from the lethargy 
of his mind. His boy was dead, and 
had died for him ! — and the old man's 
heart was broken ! 

" Medon ! " said Olinthus, pityingly, 
" arise and fly ! God is forth upon the 
wings of the elements ! The New 
123 



#4 The Destruction 



Gomorrah is doomed ! — Fly, ere the 
fires consume thee ! " 

" He was ever so full of life ! — he 
cannot be dead ! Come hither ! — 
place your hand on his heart ! — sure 
it beats yet r " 

" Brother, the soul has fled ! we will 
remember it in our prayers ! Thou 
canst not reanimate the dumb clay ! 
Come, come, — hark ! while I speak, 
yon crashing walls ! — hark ! yon 
agonising cries ! Not a moment is to 
be lost ! — Come ! " 

" I hear nothing ! " said Medon, 
shaking his gray hair. " The poor 
boy, his love murdered him ! " 

" Come ! come ! forgive this friendly 
force." 

u What ! Who would sever the 
father from the son ? " And Medon 

124 



of Pompeii 

clasped the body tightly in his embrace, 
and covered it with passionate kisses. 
" Go ! " said he, lifting up his face for 
one moment. " Go ! — we must be 
alone ! " 

u Alas ! " said the compassionate 
Nazarene. " Death has severed ye 
already ! " 

The old man smiled very calmly. 
" No, no, no ! " he muttered, his voice 
growing lower with each word, — 
u Death has been more kind ! " 

With that his head drooped on his 
son's breast — his arms relaxed their 
grasp. Olinthus caught him by the 
hand — the pulse had ceased to beat ! 
The last words of the father were the 
words of truth, — Death had been more 
kind ! 

Meanwhile, the streets were already 
125 



^ The Destruction 



thinned ; the crowd had hastened to 
disperse itself under shelter ; the ashes 
began to fill up the lower parts of the 
town \ but, here and there, you heard 
the steps of fugitives cranching them 
warily, or saw their pale and haggard 
faces by the blue glare of the lightning, 
or the more unsteady glare of torches, 
by which they endeavoured to steer 
their steps. But ever and anon the 
boiling water, or the straggling ashes, 
mysterious and gusty winds, rising and 
dying in a breath, extinguished these 
wandering lights, and with them the last 
living hope of those who bore them. 

In the street that leads to the gate 
of Herculaneum, Clodius now bent his 
perplexed and doubtful way. " If I 
can gain the open country," thought 
he, u doubtless there will be various 
126 



of Pompeii H£ 



vehicles beyond the gate, and Hercu- 
laneum is not far distant. Thank 
Mercury ! I have little to lose, and 
that little is about me ! " 

" Holla ! — help there — help ! " 
cried a querulous and frightened voice. 
" I have fallen down — my torch has 
gone out — my slaves have deserted 
me. I am Diomed — the rich 
Diomed ; — ten thousand sesterces to 
him who helps me ! " 

At the same moment, Clodius felt 
himself caught by the feet. " 111 for- 
tune to thee, — let me go, fool ! " said 
the gambler. 

" Oh, help me up ! — give me thy 
hand ! " 

" There — rise!" 

" Is this Clodius ? I know the 
voice ! Whither flyest thou ? " 
127 



tH The Destruction 



u Toward Herculaneum." 

" Blessed be the gods ! our way is 
the same, then, as far as the gate. 
Why not take refuge in my villa ? 
Thou knowest the long range of sub- 
terranean cellars beneath the basement, 
— that shelter, what shower can pene- 
trate ? " 

"You speak well," said Clodius, 
musingly. " And by storing the cellar 
with food, we can remain there even 
some days, should these wondrous 
storms endure so long." 

" Oh, blessed be he who invented 
gates to a city ! " cried Diomed. 
" See ! — they have placed a light 
within yon arch : by that let us guide 
our steps." 

The air was now still for a few 
minutes : the lamp from the gate 
128 



of Pompeii Hr 



streamed out far and clear : the fugi- 
tives hurried on — they gained the gate 
— they passed by the Roman sentry ; 
the lightning flashed over his livid face 
and polished helmet, but his stern 
features were composed even in their 
awe ! He remained erect and motion- 
less at his post. That hour itself 
had not animated the machine of the 
ruthless majesty of Rome into the 
reasoning and self-acting man. There 
he stood, amid the crashing elements : 
he had not received the permission 
to desert his station and escape. 1 

Diomed and his companion hurried 
on, when suddenly a female form 
rushed athwart their way. It was 
the girl whose ominous voice had been 

1 The skeletons of more than one sentry 
were found at their posts. 

129 



The Destruction 



raised so often and so gladly in antici- 
pation of " the merry show ! " 

" Oh, Diomed ! 93 she cried, " shelter ! 
shelter ! See ! " — pointing to an in- 
fant clasped to her breast — " see this 
little one ! — it is mine ! — the child 
of shame ! I have never owned it till 
this hour. But now I remember I am 
a mother ! I have plucked it from 
the cradle of its nurse : she had fled ! 
Who could think of the babe in such 
an hour but she who bore it ? Save 
it ! save it ! " 

" Curses on thy shrill voice ! Away, 
harlot ! " muttered Clodius, between 
his ground teeth. 

" Nay, girl," said the more humane 
Diomed ; " follow if thou wilt. This 
way — this way — to the vaults ! " 

They hurried on — they arrived at 
130 



of Pompeii Hr 



the house of Diomed — they laughed 
aloud as they crossed the threshold, 
for they deemed the danger over. 

Diomed ordered his slaves to carry 
down into the subterranean gallery 
before described, a profusion of food, 
and oil for lights \ and there Julia, 
Clodius, the mother and her babe, 
the greater part of the slaves, and 
some frightened visitors and clients 
of the neighbourhood, sought their 
shelter. 

V. 

^jpHE cloud, which had scattered 
so deep a murkiness over the day, 
had now settled into a solid and im- 
penetrable mass. It resembled less 
even the thickest gloom of a night 
in the open air than the close and 
131 



The Destruction 



blind darkness of some narrow room. 
But in proportion as the blackness 
gathered, did the lightnings around 
Vesuvius increase in their vivid and 
scorching glare. Nor was their horrible 
beauty confined to the usual hues of 
fire; no rainbow ever rivalled their 
varying and prodigal dyes. Now 
brightly blue as the most azure depth 
of a southern sky — now of a livid 
and snake-like green, darting restlessly 
to and fro as the folds of an enormous 
serpent — now of a lurid and intoler- 
able crimson, gushing forth through 
the columns of smoke, far and wide, 
and lighting up the whole city from 
arch to arch — then suddenly dying 
into a sickly paleness, like the ghost 
of their own life ! 

In the pauses of the showers, you 
132 



of Pompeii 



heard the rumbling of the earth be- 
neath, and the groaning waves of the 
tortured sea ; or, lower still, and audible 
but to the watch of intensest fear, the 
grinding and hissing murmur of the 
escaping gases through the chasms 
of the distant mountain. Sometimes 
the cloud appeared to break from its 
solid mass, and, by the lightning, to 
assume quaint and vast mimicries of 
human or of monster shapes, striding 
across the gloom, hurtling one upon 
the other, and vanishing swiftly into 
the turbulent abyss of shade ; so that, 
to the eyes and fancies of the affrighted 
wanderers, the unsubstantial vapours 
were as the bodily forms of gigantic 
foes — the agents of terror and of 
death. 

The ashes in many places were 
i33 



#4 The Destruction 



already knee-deep ; and the boiling 
showers which came from the steam- 
ing breath of the volcano forced their 
way into the houses, bearing with 
them a strong and suffocating vapour. 
In some places, immense fragments of 
rock, hurled upon the house roofs, bore 
down along the streets masses of con- 
fused ruin, which yet more and more, 
with every hour, obstructed the way ; 
and as the day advanced, the motion 
of the earth was more sensibly felt — 
the footing seemed to slide and creep 
— nor could chariot or litter be kept 
steady, even on the most level ground. 

Sometimes the huger stones, strik- 
ing against each other as they fell, 
broke into countless fragments, emit- 
ting sparks of fire, which caught what- 
ever was combustible within their 
i34 



of Pompeii 



reach ; and along the plains beyond 
the city the darkness was now terribly 
relieved \ for several houses, and even 
vineyards, had been set in flames ; and 
at various intervals the fires rose sul- 
lenly and fiercely against the solid 
gloom. To add to this partial relief 
of the darkness, the citizens had, here 
and there, in the more public places, 
such as the porticos of temples and 
the entrances to the forum, endeavoured 
to place rows of torches ; but these 
rarely continued long ; the showers 
and the winds extinguished them, and 
the sudden darkness into which their 
fitful light was converted had some- 
thing in it doubly terrible and doubly 
impressive on the impotence of human 
hopes, the lesson of despair. 

Frequently, by the momentary light 
i3S 



#4 The Destruction 



of these torches, parties of fugitives 
encountered each other, some hurrying 
toward the sea, others flying from the 
sea back to the land; for the ocean 
had retreated rapidly from the shore — 
an utter darkness lay over it, and, upon 
its groaning and tossing waves, the 
storm of cinders and rocks fell without 
the protection which the streets and 
roofs afforded to the land. Wild — 
haggard — ghastly with supernatural 
fears, these groups encountered each 
other, but without the leisure to speak, 
to consult, to advise ; for the showers 
fell now frequently, though not con- 
tinuously, extinguishing the lights, 
which showed to each band the death- 
like faces of the other, and hurrying all 
to seek refuge beneath the nearest shel- 
ter. The whole elements of civilisa- 
136 



of Pompeii Hr 

tion were broken up. Even and anon, 
by the flickering lights, you saw the 
thief hastening by the most solemn 
authorities of the law, laden with, and 
fearfully chuckling over, the produce 
of his sudden gains. If, in the dark- 
ness, wife was separated from husband, 
or parent from child, vain was the hope 
of reunion. Each hurried blindly and 
confusedly on. Nothing in all the va- 
rious and complicated machinery of 
social life was left save the primal law 
of self-preservation ! 

" Who is there ? " said the trembling 
and hollow voice of one near Calixenes. 
" Yet, what matters ? — the crush of 
the ruined world forbids to us friends 
or foes." 

Calixenes looked in the direction 
of the voice. Through the darkness 
i37 



#4 The Destruction 



glared forth two burning eyes, — the 
lightning flashed and lingered athwart 
the temple, — and Calixenes, with a 
shudder, perceived the lion to which 
he had been doomed crouched beneath 
the pillars ; and, close beside it, un- 
witting of the vicinity, lay the giant 
form of him who had accosted him — 
the wounded gladiator, Niger. 

That lightning had revealed to each 
other the form of beast and man ; yet 
the instinct of both was quelled. Nay, 
the lion crept near and nearer to the 
gladiator as for companionship ; and 
the gladiator did not recede or tremble. 
The revolution of Nature had dissolved 
her lighter terrors as well as her wonted 
ties. 

While they were thus terribly pro- 
tected, a group of men and women, 

138 



of Pompeii Hr 



bearing torches, passed by the temple. 
They were of the congregation of the 
Nazarenes ; and a sublime and un- 
earthly emotion had not, indeed, quelled 
their awe, but it had robbed awe of 
fear. They had long believed, accord- 
ing to the error of the early Christians, 
that the Last Day was at hand ; they 
imagined now that the Day had come. 

" Woe ! woe ! " cried, in a shrill 
and piercing voice, the elder at their 
head. " Behold ! the Lord descendeth 
to judgment ! He maketh fire come 
down from heaven in the sight of men ! 
Woe ! woe ! ye strong and mighty ! 
Woe to ye of the fasces and the pur- 
ple ! Woe to the idolater and the 
worshipper of the beast ! Woe to ye 
who pour forth the blood of saints, 
and gloat over the death-pangs of the 
T39 



#4 The Destruction 



sons of God ! Woe to the harlot of 
the sea ! — woe ! woe ! 99 

And with a loud and deep chorus, 
the troop chanted forth along the wild 
horrors of the air, — - " Woe to the 
harlot of the sea ! — woe ! woe ! " 

The Nazarenes paced slowly on, 
their torches still flickering in the 
storm, their voices still raised in men- 
ace and solemn warning, till, lost amid 
the windings in the streets, the dark- 
ness of the atmosphere and the silence 
of death again fell over the scene. 

There was one of the frequent 
pauses in the showers, and as Calix- 
enes stood, hesitating, on the last step 
of the portico, an old man, with a bag 
in his right hand, and leaning upon a 
youth, tottered by. The youth bore 
a torch. Calixenes recognised the two 
140 



of Pompeii 



as father and son — miser and prodi- 
gal. 

" Father," said the youth, " if you 
cannot move more swiftly, I must 
leave you, or we both perish ! " 

cc Fly, boy, then, and leave thy 
sire ! " 

" But I cannot fly to starve ; give 
me thy bag of gold ! " And the youth 
snatched at it. 

" Wretch ! wouldst thou rob thy 
father ? " 

" Ay ! who can tell the tale in this 
hour ? Miser, perish ! " 

The boy struck the old man to the 
ground, plucked the bag from his re- 
laxing hand, and fled onward with a 
shrill yell. 



141 



#4 The Destruction 



VI. 

^JpHE sudden illumination, the bursts 
of the. floods of. lava, and the 
earthquake, which we have already 
described, chanced when Sallust and 
his party had just gained the direct 
path leading from the city to the port ; 
and here they were arrested by an im- 
mense crowd, more than half the pop- 
ulation of the city. They spread along 
the field without the walls, thousands 
upon thousands, uncertain whither to 
fly. The sea had retired far from the 
shore ; and they who had fled to it had 
been so terrified by the agitation and 
preternatural shrinking of the element, 
the gasping forms of the uncouth sea 
things which the waves had left upon 
142 



of Pompeii 

the sand, and by the sound of the huge 
stones cast from the mountain into the 
deep, that they had returned again to 
the land, as presenting the less fright- 
ful aspect of the two. Thus the two 
streams of human beings, the one sea- 
ward, the other from the sea, had met 
together, feeling a sad comfort in num- 
bers ; arrested in despair and doubt. 

" The world is to be destroyed by 
fire," said an old man in long loose 
robes, a philosopher of the Stoic 
school : " Stoic and Epicurean wisdom 
have alike agreed in this prediction ; 
and the hour is come ! " 

w Yea ; the hour is come ! " cried a 
loud voice, solemn but not fearful. 

Those around turned in dismay. 
The voice came from above them. It 
was the voice of Olinthus, who, sur- 
M3 



The Destruction 



rounded by his Christian friends, stood 
upon an abrupt eminence on which 
the old Greek colonists had raised a 
temple to Apollo, now time-worn and 
half in ruin. 

" The hour is come ! " 

The Christians repeated the cry. It 
was caught up — it was echoed from 
side to side — woman and man, child- 
hood and old age repeated, not aloud, 
but in a smothered and dreary murmur : 

" The hour is come ! " 

At that moment, a wild yell burst 
through the air ; — and, thinking only 
of escape, whither it knew not, the 
terrible tiger of the desert leaped among 
the throng, and hurried through its 
parted streams. And so came the 
earthquake, — and so darkness once 
more fell over the earth ! 

144 



of Pompeii 

And now new fugitives arrived. 
Grasping the treasures no longer des- 
tined for their lord, the slaves of Ar- 
baces joined the throng. 

After many pauses and incredible 
perseverance, they gained the sea, and 
joined a group, who, bolder than the 
rest, resolved to hazard any peril rather 
than continue in such a scene. In 
darkness they put forth to sea ; but, as 
they cleared the land and caught new 
aspects of the mountain, its channels 
of molten fire threw a partial redness 
over the waves. 

The showers of dust and ashes, still 
borne aloft, fell into the wave, and 
scattered their snows over the deck. 
Far and wide, borne by the winds, 
those showers descended upon the 
remotest climes, startling even the 
i45 



The Destruction 



swarthy African ; and whirled along 
the antique soil of Syria and of Egypt. 

VII. 

"^TEARLY seventeen centuries had 
rolled away when the City of 
Pompeii was disinterred from its silent 
tomb, 1 all vivid with undimmed hues ; 
its walls fresh as if painted yesterday 
— not a hue faded on the rich mo- 
saic of its floors — in its forum the 
half-finished columns as left by the 
workman's hand — in its gardens 
the sacrificial tripod — in its halls the 
chest of treasure — in its baths the 
strigil — in its theatres the counter of 
admission — in its saloons the furniture 

1 Destroyed A. D. 79 ; first discovered A. D. 
1750. 

146 



of Pompeii Hr 

and the lamp — in its triclinia the frag- 
ments of the last feast — in its cubicula 
the perfumes and the rouge of faded 
beauty — and everywhere the bones 
and skeletons of those who once 
moved the springs of that minute yet 
gorgeous machine of luxury and of 
life ! 1 

In the house of Diomed, in the sub- 

1 At present there have been about three hun- 
dred and fifty or four hundred skeletons discov- 
ered in Pompeii; but, as a great part of the 
city is yet to be disinterred, we can scarcely 
calculate the number of those who perished in 
the destruction. Still, however, we have every 
reason to conclude that they were very few in 
proportion to those who escaped. The ashes 
had been evidently cleared away from many of 
the houses, no doubt for the purpose of recov- 
ering whatever treasures had been left behind. 
The mansion of our friend Sallust is one of 
those thus revisited. The skeletons which, re- 
147 



#4 The Destruction 



into a sulphurous vapour ; the inmates 
of the vaults had rushed to the door, 
to find it closed and blocked up by the 
scoria without, and, in their attempts to 
force it, had been suffocated with the 
atmosphere. 

In the garden was found a skeleton 
with a key by its bony hand, and near 
it a bag of coins. This is believed to 
have been the master of the house — 
the unfortunate Diomed, who had 
probably sought to escape by the gar- 
den, and been destroyed either by the 
vapours or some fragment of stone. 
Beside some silver vases lay another 
skeleton, probably of a slave. 

The houses of Sallust and of Pansa, 
the Temple of Isis, with the juggling 
concealments behind the statues, — the 
lurking-place of its holy oracles, — are 
150 



of Pompeii 



now bared to the gaze of the curious. 
In one of the chambers of that temple 
was found a huge skeleton with an axe 
beside it \ two walls had been pierced 
by the axe — the victim could pene- 
trate no farther. As the excavators 
cleared on through the mass of ruin, 
they found the skeleton of a man lit- 
erally severed in two by a prostrate 
column ; the skull was of so striking 
a conformation, so boldly marked in its 
intellectual, as well as its worse physi- 
cal developments, that it has excited 
the constant speculation of every itin- 
erant believer in the theories of Spurz- 
heim, who has gazed upon that ruined 
palace of the mind. Still, after the 
lapse of ages, the traveller may survey 
that airy hall, within whose cunning 
galleries and elaborate chambers once 



The Destruction 

thought, reasoned, dreamed, and sinned 
the soul of Arbaces the Egyptian. 

Viewing the various witnesses of a 
social system which has passed from 
the world for ever — a stranger, from 
that remote and barbarian isle which 
the imperial Roman shivered when he 
named, paused amid the delights of the 
soft Campania and composed this his- 
tory ! 



THE END. 



152 

r*7| 



